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Lately Publishedf 
(Pages XV. and 184, 16mo,- Paper, 50 cts. ; Cloth, 63 cents,) 

Roman's i^istt to Habor; 

OR, 

LOW WAGES AND HARD WORK. 



THREE LECTURES BY MRS. C. H. BALL. 



I. DEATH OR DISHONOR, f IT. VERIFY YOUR CREDENTIALS. 
III. THE OPENING OF THE GATES. 



The spirit and design of these lectures are excellent. — London ^thenaum. 

It is crammed with facts. Mrs, Dall has done in this book what has not 
been done before, and what was wanted. For this reason, it is a book to be 
bought, kept, referred to, and lent. — Christian Examiner. 

Mrs. Dall's explicitness, directness, and earnestness in so worthy a cause, 
claim our hearty commendation. — J\rortli-.^merican Review. 

The author tells her sad tale with rare refinement, and dignity of speech; 
with rare force and clearness also; and with so earnest. and pure a purpose, 
that we feel its moral pressed upon us ^v^th resistless force. — Unitarian 
Monthly. 

Literary culture, patient industry, and an earnest spirit, have been 
brought to the preparation of this slight volume. The author has written 
because she feels; and she has written sensibly, gracefully, to the time and 
to the point. — Christian Review. 

She brings her unequalled powers, not to the composition of essays which 
would not be tolerated from a man, but to the laborious collection of facts, 
to faithful induction of principles, and to clear and brave admonition. In 
the quality of her work she stands pre-eminent. — Chicago Tribune. 

We hope this book will be read by every family in the land. — J^ew-York 
Christian Enquirer. 

Her suggestions are enforced by a variety of interesting historical and 
statistical facts. — JVew-York Tribune. 

The subject so ably and earnestly discussed by Mrs. Dall is one of the 
most important, and, at the same time, one of the most diflicult of treat- 
ment. — Dedham Gazette. 

Her views are illustrated and supported by an arrav of facts which will 
surprise those who have not looked into the subject. — Worcester Spy. 

The evidences of a kind heart, close observation, faithful labor, and clear, 
strong, reasoning faculties, are visible in this little book. Montreal Pilot. 

We envy not the moral characteristics of the man whose heart this little 
work does not set throbbing with sympathy. fintislavery Standard. 

The spirit of this little book is so candid, its tone so earnest, and it is so 
interesting with curious facts and comparisons, that it challenges the atten- 
tion of all thoughtful men and women. — O. fV. Curtis, in Harpers^ Weekly. 

PUBLISHED BY ^WALKER, WISE, & CO., 

245, Washington Street, Boston. 






A VOLUME OF MISCELLANIES. 



IN TWO PARTS. 

Part I. itubhs. \ Part II. Janties. 



u^^^^^sM^y.^-^) 



BY MRS.. D ALL, 

AUTHOR OF "woman's RIGHT TO LABOR.' 



" Not all thy former tale; 
But this one word, — whether thy tale be true." 



Ki:^G John. 



BOSTON: 

WALKER, WISE, AND COMPANY, 

245, Washington Street. 

LONDON: 

EDWARD S. WHITFIELD, 178, STRAND. 

1860. 






.-^^ 

Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1860, 

BY AVALKER, WISE, AND CO. 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of 
Massachusetts. 



BOSTON: 
PRINTED BY JOHN WILSON AND SON, 

22, School Street. 



TO 



THE MINISTERS AND PEOPLE OF THE WEST CHURCH, 



AND ESPECIALLY TO 



CYRUS A. BARTOL, 



Ai ©olHrne is graJt&IIg gtbitattb. 



" Tf women are never their thoughts to employ, 
Take care to provide them a life full of joy ; 
But, if to some profit and use thou wouldst bend them, 
Take care to shear them, and then defend them." 

Goethe. 

" Since there my past life lies, why alter it? 
What would one have? 
In heaven, perhaps, new chances, — one more chance." 

Browning. 

" If God's paper, pen, and ink are thus perishable, shall we complain 

that ours do not endure? It is the writer that shall be immortal, not the 

writing." 

George Wilson. 



PREFACE, 



In offering this volume of " Pictures " to the public, I 
fulfil the long-urged wishes of personal friends, compe- 
tent, both as scholars and as men of the world, to judge 
of their fitness. But I would not yield to such wishes 
alone. The " Studies " were written nearly eight years 
ago, on an impulse given by the dissatisfaction I felt 
concerning the character of much of the biographical 
work which the newly awakened interest in woman had 
called out. 

Until women are wholly free ; until all that God 
permits, man also leaves open to them, — it is inevitable 
that they should do a great deal of poor work. Still it is 
inexpressibly painful to see such work : and we feel that 
every woman owes to the present crisis in human inte- 
rests her best, her slowest, her most faithfully prepared 
contribution ; and whatever looks slipshod, ill-consi- 
dered, or undigested, makes the heart sink. 

There are two kinds of workers in the historical field, 
and the labor of both is needed before we can reap the 
whole harvest. These are the Seekers and the Ob- 
servers. 



VI PREFACE. 

It is the business of the Seekers to collect, collate, 
test, and simplify material ; to decide what is worth 
saving, and what must be permitted to drift down the 
dark gulf of the past. It is the business of the Ob- 
servers to make use of this material, and permit philo- 
sophic thought, general knowledge, and rare culture, 
to do their work with the accumulations so brought 
together. 

As Seekers, women have already done good service ; 
Miss Agnes Strickland being, perhaps, the most illus- 
trious example of the class : but such " Lives " as those 
of her " Queens " are not, in the highest sense, histories. 
They lack proportion. They are all fore-ground, on 
which the details crowd each other ; infinitely precious 
as additions to the world's store of facts, but needing 
light and shadow, perspective and " toning up," before 
they can become effective pictures. But Miss Strick- 
land is not slipshod : she does excellent work in her 
kind, and we thank her daily. As Observers, w^omen 
have, thus far, done very little ; and, as observers^ the 
world needs them. 

No feminine jury — no human jury, I would rather 
say, constituted equally of men and women — has, thus 
far, summoned the witnesses of the past. An experimen- 
tal knowledge of the workings of woman's nature, a wide 
charity for the positions into which uncommon strength 
of good or evil kind may force her, is needed to illumi- 
nate the doubtful pages of human life. Many an histo- 
rical judgment waits to be reversed. Shadows may yet 
fall over spotless names ; and prodigies of wickedness, 
illuminated by some devout scholar's labor, may still 



PREFACE. Vll 

be drawn into the sunlight of truth, and show some 
ghmpses of their human origin. 

Thus the guilt of Marie Stuart is still a disputed 
point : but a score of the old charges against her have 
been effectually wiped away ; and fifty years may give 
back to history a mellowed portrait, where we have 
noAV only a time-stained canvas. Let women reflect on 
such possibilities, and fit themselves for the service. 

These " Studies " were printed, hardly published, in 
a journal devoted to the interests of woman ; and this 
printing was an advantage, because, both in this country 
and in Europe, it brought them before eyes well quali- 
fied to decide upon their worth, and to whose gentle, 
appreciative glance I owe my willingness to preserve 
them. 

Very far am I from thinking, that in these sketches, 
prepared in Provincial loneliness, and want of opportu- 
nity, I have done such work as I should ask to see. I 
have, however, done the best that / could do ; and 
I abide^ by the principles which I apply to others. 
Anxious that my work should, in its humble measure, 
prove sound, I do not ask that critics should be kind. 
Let them help me and the world by a justice, whether 
tending towards my personal success or my personal fail- 
ure, which is hourly becoming more rare. 

I am grateful for the warm good-will which has called 
for a second edition of " Woman's Right to Labor," and 
which has made the sunshine brighter during the last 
year. I shall not be ungrateful if that sunshine shows 
me now and then a shortcoming or a blot, a rent in my 
fabric, or a pebble among my gems. 



via PREFACE. 

I would gladly have perfected these " Studies " by far- 
ther labor ; but the time and strength once devoted to 
such pleasant tasks are now more seriously engrossed 
bv social science. The charm of the easel once broken, 
I could do no more than paint out all temporary work ; 
touching in the lights that the passage of eight years has 
rendered necessary. 

The orthography of the articles on Aspasia and Hy- 
patia was originally conformed to that of Grote. It 
has been altered in the reprint, that it might not per- 
plex the general reader by an appearance of pedantry. 
Of the " Countess Matilda," " The Women of the 
House of Montefeltro," and " Maria Agnesi," this volume 
contains a more complete account than I have found in 
any modern language. Indeed, the only excuse for 
retaining a memoir so devoid of general interest as 
that of the Montefeltro Family, lies in the fact, that 
it contains matter not elsewhere to be found, and cor- 
rections of some prominent misstatements not elimi- 
nated from the mass of mediaeval rubbish by any modern 
writer. Historians, absorbed in one chief interest, may 
easily make mistakes which would be inexcusable in a 
student of biography. 

In conclusion, — I say it somewhat sadly, reminded 
meanwhile of the hours of lonely work out of which 
these " Studies" grew, — in conclusion, I have need to 
thank but one friend for assistance in their original 
preparation. No divining rod but that of Dr. Daniel 
Wilson had power over my stiff Bolognese Latin. 

To the kindness of this well-known Scotch archaeolo- 
gist, now Professor of History in University College, 



PREFACE. IX 

Toronto, I owe my personal access to that very valuable 
collection of Italian Chronicles and Memoirs in the Li- 
brary of the Canadian Parliament, which has since been 
destroyed by fire. Brother to that Dr. George Wilson 
whose death has so lately shadowed the literary circles 
of two continents, not less by the fine endowments of 
his nature than by the ties of blood, may it be long ere 
the same dear angel sets my pen free to write his 
eulogy ! 

In the second part of this volume, I have preserved 
six " Fancies ; " which have no proper connection with 
it, and might just as well be printed by themselves, but 
for certain economic reasons which publishers under- 
stand. Over this association, the critics have my free 
welcome — 

" To make merry with their friends." 

I have dedicated this volume, out of the fulness of 
my early love, to the West Church, from which I have 
received so much, to which I can give so little. Four 
of these articles are supposed, for reasons that need 
not be stated here, to possess a peculiar interest for 
members of that church ; and the sketch of its Senior 
Pastor's ministry (which, for the sake of his near friends, 
I desired to put into some permanent keeping) could 
find no more fitting place than the close of a volume 
dedicated to his people. 

The stories of " Long Lane" and " Pepperell House " 
are an attempt to preserve the traditions which clus- 
ter around the semi-historic name of Mary Stevens. 
The mother of the younger and the wife of the elder 
Buckminster, this person w^as and is so dear to many 



X PREFACE. 

hearts, that it seemed fit to preserve the " auld wives' 
tales " which I hold, in the handwriting of her collateral 
relatives. An attempt to adhere to the very letter of 
the record has perhaps fettered the interest of the story ; 
nor would I have reprinted these tales, had I not had 
the most grateful proof that they were precious, not 
alone to her widely scattered kindred, but also to her 
only surviving child. 

The last living and lineal descendant of Sir William 
Pepperell herself wrote out for me the outlines of his 
story. Those persons who feel that the interest of such 
traditions is only local mistake the human heart. Every- 
where the sweet patience and uncompromising fidelity 
of the Lady Ursula, the noble self-sacrifice of Mary 
Stevens, will meet with reverent appreciation. Every- 
w^here the sturdy industry and fierce ambition of Sir 
William will appeal to human vanity, while the terrible 
vicissitudes of his fortunes will constitute a lesson that 
" he who runs may read." 

Caroline H. Dall. 

Boston, June, 1860. 



TABLE OP CONTENTS. 



PART L — STUDIES. 

I. AsPASiA : What may truly be said for her, rather than what 

has been said against her pp. 3-15. 

II. Hypatia, a Sketch and a Review: The Historic Fact, and 
a Protest against the Fictitious Aspersion . . . pp. 16-35. 

III. The Countess Matilda pp. 36-61. 

IV. Cassandra Fedele* pp. 62-70. 

V. The Women of the House of Montefeltro . pp. 71-84. 

Battista da Montefeltro. 

Costanza da Varano. 

Battista Sforza, Duchess of Urbino. 

Isabella Gonzaga, Duchess of Urbino. 

VI. The Women of Bologna . pp. 85-134. 

Accorsa, Professor of Jurisprudence. 

Bettisa Gozzadini, Doctor of Laws. 

Giovanna Buonsigniori, linguist. 

Christina da Pizzano, novelist. 

Bettina d' Andrea (called " Novella"), Reader of Law. 

Isotta da Rimini. 

Isotta Nogarola. 

Properzia dei Rossi, sculptor. 

Lucia Bertana, arbitrator. 

Elisabetta Sirani, modeller, engraver, and painter. 

Laura Bassi Veratti, Professor of Natural Philosophy. 

Morandi, Professor of Anatomy. 

Clotilda Tambroni, Professor of Greek. 

Carlotta Gargalli. 

Countess Sampieri. 

Madame Martinetti. 

Maria Gaetana Agnesi, mathematician. 



Xll 



CONTENTS. 



VII. The Conteibutions of 

Agnodike. 

Aspasia. 

Artemisia of Karia. 

Cleopatra. 

Elpinike. 

Trotula. 

Perrette. 

Gaucourt. 

Fran^oise. 

Olympia Morata. 

Perronne. 

Louise Boursier Bourgeois. 

Countess de Cinchona. 

La Marche. 

Justine Dieterich Siegmunden. 

Boucher. 

Breton, inventor. 

Elizabeth Blackwell, botanist. 

Ducoudray, inventor. 



Women to Medical Science, 

pp. 135-168. 

] Morandi, inventor, and Professor 
I of Anatomy. 
' Bih^ron, inventor. 

Elizabeth Nihell. 
j Sarah Stone. 
I Reffatin. 
j Plisson. 

Margaret Stevens. 

Lunel. 

La Chapelle. 

Lerebours. 

Wittembach, A.M. and M.D. 

Dunally. 

Lady Mary Wortley Montagu. 

Rondet, inventor. 

Dian. 

Boivin. 

Von Heidenreich. 

Cleret. 



Vni. The Duties and Influence of Women 



pp. 169-19^ 



Lucretia Borgia. 

Ren^e of France. 

Mrs. Tighe, author of " Cupid and 

Psyche." 
Mrs. Lefanu, author of " Songs of 

Erin." 
Diodata, author of " Gaspara 

Stampa." 
Jablonowska. 
Albrizzi. 
"La Vespa." 

Margaret Fuller. i 

Bandelletta and Gorilla, improv 

visatori. 
Duchess of Devonshire. 
• Dionigi. Sacrate. 
Perticai'i, n^e Monti. 



Olympia Maldachini. 

Madame Pompadour. 

^larchesa de Prie. 

Louisa, Countess of Albany. 

Emma, Lady Hamilton. 

Elise Bonaparte. 

Madame Murat. 

Maria Cos way. 

Maria Theresa. 

Maria Antoinette. 

Caroline of Austria. 

Marie Christine. 

Caroline of Brunswick. 

Signora Ricci, Treasurer of a 

Commune. 
Madame San Felice. 
Eleonora Piraentale. 



CONTENTS. Xiii 

IX. Marie Cuxitz, the Mathematician .... pp. 198-206. 

X. Madame de Stael pp. 207-225. 

XI. Margaret Fuller pp. 226-248. 

XII. "The Great Lawsuit:" Mary Astell; Mary Wollstoue- 
craft ; Margaret Fuller pp. 249-264. 



PART II. — FANCIES. 

I. Long Lane pp. 267-289. 

n. Pepperell House pp. 290-330. 

III. How TO MAKE Children Happy pp. 331-347. 

IV. A Sketch from Real Life • PP« 348-363. 

V. The Country Parish pp. 364-376. 

VI. Autumn Leaves pp. 377-386. 



Dr. Lowell and his Ministry pp. 389-402, 



PART I. 
STUDIES 



ASTASIA. 



"Now, brither, what mair hae ye to speer? 
I've answers aneuch, ye need na fear. 
When women for answers are at a stand, 
The North-Sea bottom will be dry land." 

Old Danish Ballad. 



npHE progress of every reform depends very 
-*- much upon the character of those who first 
engage in it. William Ladd gave the impress 
of his own gentle spirit to the movement in 
behalf of peace, and Clarkson and Wilberforce 
stamped with unmistakable integrity and ear- 
nestness that in behalf of the African slave. 
Aspasia of Miletus was the first woman Avho 
endeavored systematically to elevate the condi- 
tion of her sex ; the first, perhaps, who had it 
in her power, from a lofty station which she 
adorned with irresistible fascinations, to point 
out to them, clearly, new paths to usefulness, 
honor, and enjoyment. It becomes of impor- 
tance, therefore, that the character of Aspasia 
should be fully understood. 



4 ASPASIA. 

Very recently, a woman wrote, that Aspasia 
was the creature of the corrupt institutions 
which man, by his superior physical strength, 
sensuous passions, and unjust laws, had imposed 
on social life. She acknowledged that the popu- 
lar opinion with regard to Aspasia had been 
disputed ; but, in writing a book for women to 
read, she gives this statement no weight beyond 
that of a rumor. How do the facts really stand ? 

The charges brought against Aspasia are, sim- 
ply, that she induced Pericles to divorce his 
wife, and marry her ; that she brought on the 
PeloponnesianWar ; that she founded at Athens 
a school of courtesans ; and that she held im- 
pious opinions concerning the popular gods. It 
belongs to those who make such charges to 
prove them ; but they had their origin in the 
stupid pages of Lempriere, who saw Greek life 
through French glasses, and maligned by not 
comprehending. For a long time, his w^as the 
only classical dictionary within easy reach ; and 
we believe we are justified in saying, that it still 
exerts a wider popular influence than any book 
of its kind. There is, therefore, a continual 
repetition of the saying, that Aspasia was a 
^^ courtesan,'^ — as if people hoped, as Gothe 
says, to destroy our ^^ organs of intelligence by 



ASPASIA. O 

compelling us to believe what we so often hear.'' 
A few years ago, the publication of Lander's 
" Aspasia and Pericles/' and Mrs. Child's exqui- 
site romance of '^Philothea/' set English scholars 
to thinking upon this subject. They had more 
effect, at first, than the one fine chapter of Thirl- 
wall ; because everybody reads romance, and 
few people study history : but, since that time, 
the publication of Thirlwall and Grote, of excel- 
lent translations of Plato, Aristophanes, and 
Xenophon, leave us no excuse for such ignorance 
as is displayed in the volume alluded to. 

1. The first question is that of the divorce. 
Thirlwall, the only competent judge who en- 
larges upon this accusation, says, ^^We can 
hardly doubt that it was Aspasia who first 
disturbed this union ; but it was dissolved by 
mutual consent, and Pericles associated himself 
with others of her kindred in giving her away 
to her third husband." Grote says, ^^ The union, 
which had never been com/ortablej was dissolved 
by mutual consent." Look, now, at the facts 
of the case. Would Pericles have wished to 
divorce his wife, if Aspasia had been of the 
loose character generally attributed to her? and 
could this woman — one of the great family of 
the Alcmseonids, if we are not mistaken — be 



b ASPASIA. 

put away without exasperating her relatives, 
especially her two sons by Pericles (Xanthippus 
and Paralus), — without forming a second par- 
ty in the State, at the very least inimical to 
Aspasia ? 

2. She was accused of encouraging the Pelo- 
ponnesian War. By whom ? The comic poet 
Aristophanes, — in a broad farce, which gives 
us the gossip of the streets, not the sober facts 
of history. Thucydides never mentions her 
name in connection with the war; and modern 
historians have not thought it worth while to 
advert to the rumor. 

3. Graver still, she was accused of deprav- 
ing Athenian women to gratify the passions of 
Pericles. By whom? Once more, by the comic 
poet Hermippus, and his master and superior, 
Aristophanes. Hermippus was so obscure a 
person, that it is only Aspasia^s fame that has 
preserved him from oblivion ; and a competent 
authority speaks of him only as a man who 
preferred a charge of impiety against Aspasia. 
Plutarch and Athenseus repeat the story; the 
latter quoting in behalf of it the lines of Aristo- 
phanes. The reputation of an intellectual woman 
was thus sacrificed to the pun of a comedian ; 
and Grote, in speaking of this and a similar story, 



ASPASIA. 7 

sayS;"This is one of the many errors, in Grecian 
history, arising from the practice of construing 
passages of comedy as if they were serious and 
literal facts." 

The same charge was made by the same 
person, at the same time, against the sculptor 
Phidias. Nor did the hired mouthpiece of a 
political party pause here. It must be remem- 
bered, that the very authority which threw 
this cloud over the name of Aspasia, charged 
Socrates, also, with crimes and indecorums 
which his worst enemy would not now think it 
worth while to remember, — which no historian 
would disgrace himself by repeating. 

The public mind has already acquitted the 
sculptor and the philosopher ; and, following 
the example of the Athenians themselves, it 
must at length acquit the woman. Plato says 
that Aspasia was the preceptress of Socrates. A 
few years after, the same charges were brought 
against her pupil ; and Plato composed for him 
an ^^ Apology,'' which still challenges the reve- 
rence of the world. Where shall we find the 
Apology of Aspasia ? If not in the pupilage of 
Socrates, at least in the tears of Pericles, — Peri- 
cles the noble, the history of whose administra- 
tion reads like a romance ; whose stern virtue 



8 ASPASIA. 

withstood every temptation, and, by irritating 
his worthless and unprincipled son, furnished 
rumor and comedy and political opposition with 
all the charges that were afterward brought 
against him. This Pericles clung to Aspasia as 
to his chief earthly good, the inspirer of all his 
greatness, the promoter of his loftiest thought. 
^^ After weathering this storm," says Thirlwall, 
alluding to her trial, '^ he seems to have reco- 
vered his former high and firm position ; which 
was never again endangered, save by one very 
transient gust." Is it credible that this would 
have been the case, had the acquittal of Aspasia 
been a prejudiced one, and had the people at 
large believed her to be, in truth, the ulcer 
which was eating out the heart of the State ? 

From the charge of impiety we do not care 
to defend Aspasia. It accused her of daring to 
believe in a purer deity than Zeus, and of fol- 
lowing Anaxagoras in declaring that the earth 
moved round the sun. We hope she did both. 
The same charge was brought against Pericles 
himself, Zeno, Protagoras, and Phidias ; later, 
against the philosopher Socrates as well. 

Aspasia came from Miletus into Greece. The 
freer life of the islands of the Archipelago, 
and the provincial cities, nurtured at that time 



ASPASIA. V 

many women of rare scholarship and intellectual 
graces. She came up to Athens to see the 
distinguished men with which the city swarmed, 
— as country girls of our time have sometimes 
gone up to Boston, enamoured of Orphic Alcott, 
the Greek Emerson, or Parker of the steady will. 
She found the Athenian women living in a seclu- 
sion which would have suffocated her. The 
sexes had not progressed in company; and at 
the very period when Athens shone resplendent 
through her philosophers, statesmen, and artists, 
her women were timid, inert beings, — incapable 
of inspiring a true affection, or exercising any 
mental ascendency. What wonder that the mind 
of Aspasia had greater charms for the men of 
Athens than the beauty of her person, although 
that was confessedly great ? 

The' law of Athens recognized no legal mar- 
riage with a foreigner, and the children of such 
connections were declared illegitimate. Pericles 
married Aspasia, in such left-handed fashion as 
the law did permit; lived with her publicly, and 
with her alone. Afterward, the son of this union 
was legitimated by the proper tribunals. 

Placed by Pericles at the head of Athenian 
society, Aspasia used all her influence to draw 
the Greek women into the society of their hus- 



10 ASPASIA. 

bands, and to awaken in them a love for literature 
and art. She summoned them to her table ; she 
visited with them the studios of Phidias, and 
such other artists as Pericles was at that time 
employing for the glory of Athens. It was no 
wonder that the young yielded to the seductions 
of her society more readily than those whose 
habits were fixed : hence the scandals that the 
vulgar reported. It was no wonder that " fast 
young men about town/' then as now, railed at 
what they could not appreciate ; and were glad 
to accuse her of impiety, who only wished to 
find better gods for their worship than Dionysus 
or Aphrodite. But, in spite of all this, rich 
and honored citizens carried their wives to the 
saloons of Pericles, to catch, if they might, 
the fascinations of her wit. Socrates went, — 
although Xantippe doubtless pouted, — and was 
silent. When Aspasia spoke, Plato tuned the 
rhythmic cadence of his dialogues to the music 
of her words ; and the grave Anaxagoras and 
Zeno were glad to talk with her of God and his 
law, apart from irrelevant sophisms or empty 
myths. 

Would you have the history of that immortal 
marriage written truly ? 

Imagine the Greek ruler, married for some 



ASPASIA. 11 

years to a woman of the noblest Athenian blood, 
— already the mother of two children, — but one 
who, if irreproachable in conduct, was utterly 
incapable of taking in the scope of his plans, or 
sharing his lofty, adventurous thought. 

After years of weariness passed in her society, 
with no rest for his heart and no inspiration^ for 
his genius, there came to Athens a woman and 
a foreigner, in whom he found his peer, — a 
woman who gathered round her, in a moment, 
all that there was of free and noble in that 
world of poetry, statesmanship, and art. 

She was from the islands of the Archipelago ; 
and, like the women of her country, walked the 
streets with her face unveiled. Hardly had she 
come, before Socrates and Plato, and Anaxagoras, 
the pure old man, became her frequent guests, 
and honored her with the name of friend. In 
such society, Pericles saw that his o\yn soul 
would grow : so sustained, he should be more 
for Athens and himself He was no Christian, 
to deny himself for the sake of that unhappy 
wife and children, — a wife whose discontent 
had already infected the State. The gods he 
knew — Zeus and Eros — smiled on the step 
he took. What if the laws of Athens forbade a 
legal marriage with a foreigner? Pericles was 



12 ASPASIA. 

Athens, and what he respected all men must 
honor. Aspasia had, so far as we know, a free 
maiden heart ; and Pericles shows us in what 
light he regarded her, by divorcing his wife to 
consolidate their union, and subsequently forcing 
the courts to legitimate her child. Had he 
omitted these proofs of his own sincerity and 
her honor, not a voice w^ould have been raised 
against either. What need to take these steps, 
if she were the woman Aristophanes would have 
us see? 

This divorce created or strengthened the 
political opposition to Pericles. It was headed 
by his two sons and their forsaken mother, 
joined by the pure Athenian blood to which 
theirs was akin ; and gained its chief popularity 
through the wit and falsehood of Aristophanes 
and the players. 

Follow the story as it goes; and see Aspasia, 
at last, summoned before the Areopagus. What 
are the charges against her? The very same 
that were preferred against her friends Socrates 
and Anaxagoras. ^^ She walks the streets un- 
veiled ; she sits at the table with men ; she 
does not beheve in the Greek gods ; she talks 
about one sole Creator ; she has original ideas 
about the motions of the sun and moon: there- 



ASPASIA, 



13 



fore her society corrupts youth." Not a word 
about vice of any sort. Is it for abandoned 
women that the best men of any age are wilhng 
to entreat before a senate ? The tears which 
Pericles shed then for Aspasia glitter like gems 
on the historic page. 

. When the plague came, his first thought was 
for her safety ; and, after his death, her name 
shared the retirement of her widowed life. 
There was a rumor that she afterward married 
a rich grazier, whom she raised to eminence in 
the State. Not unlikely that such a rumor 
might grow in the minds of those who had not. 
forgotten the great men she made, when they 
saw the success of Lysicles ; but other authors 
assert, that his wife was the Aspasia who was 
also known as a midwife in Athens. 

It is a noble picture, it seems to us; and when 
we consider the prejudices of a Christian age 
and country, the riot which a Bloomer skirt will 
attract in our own city, we need not wonder that 
slander followed an unveiled face in Athens. 

Look at the scandal of that day ! — was it not 
the counterpart of this of ours ? At first, she 
was " odd;" then ^^bold, setting the conventions 
of decent society at defiance." — " Who but a 
courtesan would sit in the presence of men, 



14 ASPASIA. 

unveiled ? '' — '' What but a sensual supremacy 
could explain the power of her words over 
Pericles V^ — ^' She was talented and ambitious : 
sJie managed Am." — " Yes : it was she who 
taught him eloquence, who composed his ora- 
tions, who planned the magnificent structures 
he erected, and wisely turned the current of his 
activity into her own channels." And this was 
a crime, of course. A man may labor for his 
wife, and infold her in the beautiful drapery of 
his renown ; but a wife may not do this for her 
husband ! This charge, literally taken, had no 
need to be true. Pericles was a great states- 
man and orator before he ever saw Aspasia : he 
needed not her intellectual strength, — only her 
straightforward sympathy and pure insight. 

It is only the good and pure who can inspire 
lasting affection ; and there is hardly such a love 
on record as that which Pericles bore to Aspasia. 
As we dwell upon it, it fills our eyes with sweet 
human tears ; or swells our heart with bitter 
indignation, that there are so few capable of 
inspiring it, or appreciating its power. 

Aspasia and Pericles ! — inseparably united 
are their names in the memory of man. We 
cannot think of either alone ; and their forms 
arise before the mind's eye, as beautiful in 



ASPASIA. 15 

proportion, as unsullied in integrity, as mag- 
nificent in destiny, as wedded love was ever 
permitted to make two human beings, before 
the light of Christ's presence was shed over the 
earth. 



II. 

HYPATIA: A SKETCH. 



*' The gazing crowds proclaimed me fair. 
Ere autumn came, my green leaves fell ; 
And now they smile, and call me good, 
Perhaps I like that name as well." 

Barbe de Verrue. 



/~\UR defence of Aspasia may seem to many 
^^ only a maladroit instance of special pleading. 
Dainty dames may hold their garments as they 
pass us by, and prudent papas may choose to hang 
that sheet in a strong draught for ventilation's 
sake. But all that is conservative and prudent, 
as well as all that is scholarly and pure, must 
reverence the name of Hypatia, — a name conse- 
crated by the praise of her enemies, and chal- 
lenging the devoted admiration of men whose 
learning remains a proverb to the present day. 
Years ago, we heard her name fall from the lips 
of a public lecturer."^ Scanty were the facts he 
gave us; but the outline was classic and bold, and 

* Hon. Francis C. Gray. 



HYPATIA : A SKETCH. 17 

its details were burnt in upon our brain witli 
terrible fidelity. We have never forgotten her ; 
and if, child that we then were^ we ransacked 
our cyclopedias in vain for something to sate our 
newly awakened thirst, we have revenged our- 
selves ever since by gathering every fragment 
that time has let fall concerning her. 

Theon the younger, the father of Hypatia, 
was the head of the Platonic school at Alexan- 
dria at the close of the fourth centur3\ He is 
sometimes called a Heathen ; and it is said that 
his religious opinions occasioned the death of 
his daughter, by exciting the rage of the popu- 
lace. But this word '^ Heathen^' has a certain 
significance in modern times, which would be 
out of place if applied to Theon. 

We know, that, by the Athenian populace, both 
Plato, and Socrates his master, were considered 
infidels and scoff*ers. The charge made against 
Socrates on his trial was, that he did not believe 
in the State gods, and that he corrupted the 
Athenian youth by teaching them not to believe. 
Under these circumstances, a superficial observer 
might have supposed, that, on the first spread of 
Christianity, the Platonists would have fallen 
readily into the true church ; but it was not so, 
and for very sufficient reasons. Platonism be- 

2 



18 HYPATIA : A SKETCH. 

came the stronghold of the old Greek faith ; 
for nowhere else could those who wished to 
defend its saving power find a fulcrum for their 
lever: only this was spiritual enough to confront 
the newer faith. As for Platonists themselves, 
there were two reasons for their retaining their 
first position: first, the amount of absolute truth 
which pure reason had found for them among the 
ruins of the popular mythology ; and, secondly, 
the exaggerated miracles which preceded and 
heralded the rising of the Star of Bethlehem. 
They could not forget, — when they heard that 
Jesus was the Son of God, that his star had 
risen in the east, and that far-off potentates 
had come to worship him, — how similar legends, 
told of the grand old Greeks, had degenerated 
into weak, corrupting myths, festering like ul- 
cers in the warm heart of their nation. 

We shall see, as we proceed, whether the cha- 
racter of the Christians of the fourth century, 
headed by Bishop Cyril, was of such a sort as to 
influence a man like Theon, or give him practical 
proof of the divine origin of the Beatitudes. 

Theon is known as a commentator on Ptole- 
my, and the editor of ^^Euclid.'' Here and there, 
he has added a demonstration to ^* Euclid ; '^ and 
those that are known to be his do honor to his 



HYPATIA : A SKETCH. 19 

reputation. In religion, we might term him a 
Theist ; for, like all Platonists, he believed in 
one Supreme Being, the Father and Inspirer 
of men. These views he of course imparted to 
his daughter, who began at a very early age 
to show an aptitude for learning. He was not 
content with teaching her philosophy and let- 
ters : he gave her as sound a knowledge of 
the sciences as the period admitted. All that 
he knew himself he imparted to her ; and the 
result was, that we find Hypatia occupying 
a position unparalleled in ancient or modern 
times. She is said to have written a book ^^ On 
the Astronomical Canon of Diophantes ; '' and 
another, ^^ On the Conies of Apollonius ; ^' and 
all this before she reached her twenty-seventh 
year ! 

The historian Socrates, one of her enemies, 
tells her story with a simple candor which 
ought to be a lesson to historians of all ages 
and parties. '^ She arrived," he says, ^'at so emi- 
nent a degree of learning, that she excelled all 
the philosophers of her own times, succeed- 
ed her father in that Platonic school derived 
from Plotinus, and expounded all the precepts 
of philosophy to those who would hear her. 
Wherefore all studious persons flocked to her 



20 hypatia: a sketch. 

from all parts ; and she addressed both them 
and the magistrates with singular modesty.'^ 

At this time, her literary tastes must have led 
her to recoil from the representatives of the 
Christian Church, resident in Alexandria. The 
Alexandrian Library, the loss of whose treasures 
has occasioned one of the staple lamentations of 
scholars, consisted of two parts. The larger 
portion, termed the Royal Library and the Mu- 
seum, were burned in the siege of the city 
by Julius Csesar, Instead of them, Antony gave 
to Cleopatra the Library of Pergamus. But 
the Library in the Temple of Jupiter Serapis, 
consisting of three hundred thousand volumes, 
remained until the reign of Theodosius the 
Great. During the childhood — perhaps it may 
have been the girlhood — of Hypatia, a crowd of 
fanatical Christians, headed by their archbishop, 
and following the orders of a Christian emperor, 
had rushed to the sacred portals of the Serapion 
to storm and destroy it. The books which she 
had been accustomed to read — which seemed 
to her the truest riches of that imperial city — 
were now burned or destroyed. It becomes us, 
also, to remember that we owe this great loss, 
not to Arabs under Omar, but to Christians 
rallying under the banner of the Prince of peace. 



hypatia: a sketch. 21 

It were little wonder if Hypatia refused to be- 
lieve on him. Day after day, as she went to 
the Academy, the ruins of this splendid library 
stared her in the face ; and, gentle as she was, 
she must have thought, with a grief that was 
all but anger, on the mistaken zealots who had 
destroyed it. 

Hypatia was never wedded ; but she was 
betrothed to a person named Isidore. If this 
were the Isidore of Pelusium mentioned by 
Suidas (to whom also we owe the fact of her 
betrothal), — the only Isidore, known to us, 
who was the contemporary of Hypatia, — the 
populace may have been wholly at fault with 
regard to her religious faith. He is stated to 
have written three thousand letters elucidating 
the Holy Scriptures ; and the terrible death of 
his mistress could have had little tendency to 
convert one not of the faith before. 

The highest testimony to her character is fur- 
nished in the fact, that, though surrounded by 
bitter enemies, not a word was ever breathed 
by one of them against its virgin purity. 

Pleasant it is to think of this lovely woman, 
clothed in wisdom as in a garment, and honored 
by the flower of the whole civilized world. 
Among her pupils was that Christian Platonist, 



22 HYPATIA : A SKETCH. 

Synesius, — afterwards Bishop of Ptolemais. He 
tells his brother, in a letter, to salute Hypatia, 
and ^^ that happy society which enjoys the bless- 
ing of her divine voice.'' His affection for her 
fell little short of adoration ; and he would not 
even publish what he wrote, without her appro- 
bation and consent. 

In the height of her beauty, her fame, and her 
usefulness, the storm gathered over Hypatia's 
head. Beside other causes of tumult, Cyril, 
Bishop of Alexandria, encouraged the bitterest 
persecution of the Jews in the city. Orestes, 
the Roman governor, was the friend of Hypatia ; 
and it is supposed that she interceded with him 
in behalf of this unhappy, unoffending people. 
Orestes, perhaps, felt that Hypatia's wonderful 
power of persuasion might find a fit field before 
the bishop. At all events, an intimacy grew up 
between them, highly displeasing to Cyril. At 
first, he directed the energies of his Christian 
mob toward the hapless Orestes ; but, when he 
escaped with his life, Cyril allowed the calumny 
to spread, that it was Hypatia who stood between 
the prefect and the bishop, and prevented the 
return of peace to the city. 

So incited, a restless crowd, headed by a 
fanatic, beset her chariot one day as she re- 



HYPATIA : A SKETCH. 



23 



turned from the Academy ; and, after dragging 
her at the horses^ heels through the streets of 
the city, carried her to a church to strip her 
naked, and tear her flesh with broken bits of tile, 
and shells, until she died ; when her limbs were 
torn apart, and burned in the pubHc square. 

^^ This,'' continues the ecclesiastical historian 
Socrates, " brought no small disgrace upon the 
Alexandrian Church.'' And so, in truth, it 
should. This woman, strong in intellect, beau- 
tiful in person, and spotless in virtue, fared 
worse at the hands of the populace than the 
supposed courtesan of Athens, who was thought 
to minister to the basest passions of its ruler. 
And why? Because she was suspected of hav- 
ing an opinion and an influence in public aff'airs, 

because she was deemed worthy to sit in the 

councils of Church and State ! 

It is said — we know not on what authority — 
that the emperor would have punished the mur- 
derers, but for the interference of Orestes, who 
corrupted his advisers. This does not look as 
if the governor were spotless ; and one would 
think, that, having nearly lost his own life in a 
similar mob, his interests would have lain in 
another direction. 



HYPATIA: A EEVIEW, 



npHESE volumes"^ cannot fail to be popular. 
-^ They are written in a brilliant, striking- 
style, by a man who, in his earlier years at 
least, has felt all the power of the world^s baits 
and lures. They are written for a special pur- 
pose, and they serve it. There is such an 
amount of humanity in them as must win read- 
ers ; and no man who looks at the first chapter 
will be willing to throw the others by. 

Because this novel must be popular, it rouses 
our moral indignation. Because Hypatia will 
be henceforth as little honored in the popular 
thought as Aspasia, have we deemed it our 
duty to turn some critical glances towards these 
pages, wherewith admiring eyes will have only 
too much to do. Already newspapers, review- 
ers, and scholars (Heaven save the mark ! ) are 
singing in their praise ; already the beautiful, 

* Hypatia ; or, New Foes with an Old Face. By Charles Kingsley. 
Boston: Crosby and Nichols. 2 vols. 1853. 



HYPATIA : A REVIEW. 25 

pure image of Hypatia, shrined in many a maid- 
en heart, is growing dim and discolored ; and 
we hear no word of remonstrance. For some 
critical glances, then, we hold ourselves ready 
— not for a thorough review ; for that would 
require a classical library, not to be thought of 
in that out-of-the-way corner of the earth where 
these volumes happen to find us. 

And, in the first place, let us protest against 
historical fiction in general. True, it serves to 
make certain historical persons and their deeds 
familiar ; but it prejudices the popular mind it 
teaches. Men know no longer the historic per- 
sons, but only what some romancer thought 
them ; and not always his own honest thought, 
but another, which, being more efiective, will 
be better likely to serve his turn. Richard 
must go down to all posterity a hunchback, be- 
cause Shakspeare's genius made him so; though 
a thousand commentators prove and re-prove 
that he had the fairest natural proportions. 

The man who undertakes to turn a passage of 
ancient history into a modern novel ought to be 
sure of two things : first, that he has sufiicient 
historical material to justify the superstructure 
that he intends to raise ; second, that his aim, 
however pure and lofty it may be, shall not 



26 HYPATIA : A REVIEW. 

essentially falsify the character of which he 
makes use. Mr. Kingsley fails, w^e think, in 
both these particulars. 

It is well known to scholars, that the bare 
facts of Hypatia's success and martyrdom are all 
that remain to us of her ancient glory. There 
would have been even less, had not the atrocity 
of the latter deed given an effective shock to 
the development of Christianity in Alexandria. 

For many a year have we looked longingly 
towards the ideal of this virgin teacher, and 
more than once have we written her name at 
the head of our page. What checked us, ere the 
page had grown into a chapter, and the chapter 
to a novel ? Only the deep consciousness that 
whatever we built up about that name would 
owe its existence to our own reverent fancy, and 
that her pure garments might be tarnished for 
the common eye by our earthly touch. Whether 
our fears were just or not, w^e wish Mr. Kingsley 
had shared them. Better never done than ill 
done, may be safely said of every such work. 

What little may be known of Hypatia, besides 
what is told us in the letters of Synesius, and 
Isidore of Pelusium, is to be found in Suidas, 
and Damascius the author of the Life of Isidore 
thePhilosopher, and inPhotius; also in scattered 



HYPATIA : A REVIEW. 27 

allusions running through literature nearly con- 
temporaneous, and in the pages of the Christian 
historian Socrates. Socrates tells the plain 
story, without comment. Suidas — whose au- 
thority weighs little, since we do not know who 
he was nor where he lived — adds, that she was 
beautiful ; catalogues her works ; and repeats 
an anecdote, not worth recording. Damascius, 
if we remember rightly, tells us only one 
fact, which is not a fact ; namely, that she 
was betrothed to Isidore the philosopher, — a 
manifest anachronism, which Photius contradicts 
by stating again that Isidore married one Domna. 
Synesius, and Isidore of Pelusium, were her 
contemporaries, and whatever fair inference may 
deduce from their letters can be trusted ; 
but neither it, nor whatever else a scholar's 
toil may gather up, forms any fit basis for an 
historical novel. 

With regard to the second point, we shall not 
attempt to find out the new foes that Mr. Kings- 
ley offers us under the old face. We presume 
they are such as every man can readily call by 
name. If the author's aim were, as the con- 
cluding paragraph of his preface might justify 
us in asserting, merely to exhibit one of the last 
struggles between the new church and the old 



28 HYP ATI A : A REVIEW. 

world, some less precious name might have 
served his purpose as well as '^ Hypatia/' But 
the object which the public at large will recog- 
nize is the making familiar as a household word 
a name until this day the property of scholars ; 
and, in giving any true idea of this extraordi- 
nary woman, we say, without hesitation, that he 
has worse than failed. 

What we positively know of Hypatia is, that 
she was wondrously wise and beautiful, — so 
superior to the age in which she lived, that her 
worst enemies never dared to breathe a word 
against her purity, and Cyril never dreamed 
of corrupting her; that she invested the night of 
a past age with so wonderful a dignity and power, 
that, in the great city of Alexandria, her influ- 
ence was second only to the ambitious prelate's 
own ; that whatever there was of learning and 
culture and refinement there, bowed at her feet. 
The Christian populace, maddened by her public 
devotion to the past, and her father's well-known 
Heathenism ; the Jews, who cried out for justice 
against Cyril, and were answered by an ominous 
finger pointing to the Academy, — these rose 
against her : but the historians of the church, 
who would have been glad to justify them, can say 
no more than that she was supposed to stand in 



hypatia: a review. 29 

the way of CyriPs reconciliation to Orestes. 
No man dared to say he beheved it. No man, 
not the vilest, dared to accuse her of any desire 
to become the high-priestess of Athene or the 
Empress of Africa. It was reserved for the au- 
thor of ^^ Alton Locke'' to sully her memory by 
imputing it as possible to her, — her, the Hypatia 
beloved by that Synesius, whose lofty character 
and blameless life secured to him the bishopric of 
Ptolemais, against his own wishes and his well- 
known metaphysical heresies. What we do cer- 
tainly know of her is, that she showed neither 
vanity nor self-elation ; that she modestly shrank 
from teaching where Ammonius and Hierocles 
had taught ; but that, being persuaded, her 
eloquence, her insight, her practical wisdom, 
charmed listeners of all ages, and degrees of 
culture. 

And what, then, has the author of ^^ Alton 
Locke '' made of this woman ? He has intro- 
duced her to us as one whose very handwriting 
shows a calm, self-conscious, studied character, 
dwelling in the midst of affected archaism. Ar- 
guments that were used by Porphyry and Julian 
are thrust into her mouth, as if she were capable 
of using them. Then as a self-elated fool, who, 
believing that she could win back a glorious 



30 hypatia: a review. 

past, — as no woman, possessing a tithe of the 
wisdom attributed to Hypatia, could ever have 
believed, — prostitutes herself to a man vulgar, 
effete, licentious in the highest degree. You 
reject the tradition of Damascius ; but j^ou do 
not hesitate, modern author ! to throw this 
saffron cloak over her name. You bring her 
before us, shrinking like a silly girl from a 
beggar in the street ; owning the superiority 
of Ben-Ezra in ^^ practical cunning,'^ as if tliat 
were a thing to be desired ; and, finally, electri- 
fying an audience with an outpouring of trashy 
mysticism that could never have turned the 
head of the youngest boy, far less have won 
the wise ear of Synesius. 

Our author assumed too much when he under- 
took to lecture for Hypatia ; and he left too 
many holes in his philosopher's cloak, when he 
caused her, who believed in Greek mytlis, and 
tried to marry them to Oriental fancies, to be 
shocked at the Saviour's humble birth. It is no 
woman who so addresses an audience, much less 
an Hypatia. 

Again : he permits Philammon to reproach 
her with sins, profligacy, and sorceries, such 
as the advocates of the church, who tore her 
quivering limbs asunder, never yet dared to 



i 



hypatia: a review. 31 

bring against her ; such as the foulest rumor 
of her own day never stooped to whisper. 

The true Hypatia, looking upon God as a 
Father, and seeking in mythology manifold ex- 
pressions and interpretations of his love, was 
wise enough to be humble ; but he brings her 
before us, inveighing, in terms that fill us with 
horror, against the sacred duties of wife and 
mother, and shrinking from the contaminating 
embrace of Orestes, not because she did not love 
him, not because he was unworthy of her, but 
because of the degradation which the divine tie 
of marriage would imply. She does not quail 
before a fate worse to a pure-minded woman than 
death; but she shrinks with unphilosophic terror 
from the gaze of Miriam, and finally becomes her 
tool. She sits beside Orestes, while children are 
torn limb from limb; she sits beside him, while 
fibre after fibre of a sister's soul is strained and 
torn, while the plaudits of a multitude deafened 
with dishonor the nude form of Venus Anadyo- 
mene ! If our Hypatia had been bad enough to 
do this, she could never have been weak enough. 
Philosophy had not quenched, in her, womanly 
love and power ; else fiery old Synesius, who 
refused to 'resign his wife and children to the 
church, could never have so loved her. Our Hy- 



32 HYPATIA : A REVIEW. 

patia must have felt the full force of Philammon's 
love ; for Pelagia must have been too great to 
yield to the weak cupidity of a father the honor 
of her faith, or the good abbot of Pelusium need 
never have mentioned her with praise. 

We have no patience when a name sacred 
as Hypatia's is dragged down to a level low as 
this. This character, full of inconsistencies, 
nowhere challenges our love or admiration. 
Skilfully as the scene in the Amphitheatre is 
managed, none of our pity is felt for the Hypatia 
who kneels before a rebel unknown to history. 
Such a woman need never have excited CyriPs 
enmity : it would have been only too easy to 
corrupt her. It was the native antagonism 
between Cyril and the true Hypatia that made 
the bishop hate her, even as Bonaparte hated 
De Stael. Her keen sight penetrated the flimsy 
veil of his Christianity, and detected the bold, 
ambitious, unscrupulous man under the garb of 
the bishop. Could she not, then, penetrate the 
still flimsier garb of the Roman prefect? That 
she did so, Orestes' unwillingness to avenge her 
death may seem to indicate. 

That we may not be supposed unable to 
appreciate the great points of this book, we 



HYPATIA : A REVIEW. 33 

may advert to the fine sketch of Synesius, of 
whom the reader may remember — 

" That the church was scarce propitious, 
As he whistled dogs and gods," — 

and the well-drawn characters of Ben-Ezra and 
Philammon. With each of the two latter, the 
author has a certain inborn sympathy, which 
secured their being well done. Colleges have 
their temptations, as well as the old Academy • 
and the wisdom of our author was matured in 
bitter experience. 

What impression does the whole book leave 
upon us ? If it were a history, the world had 
lost a martyr; for Kingsley^s Hj-patia is no 
martyr : she is a weak, presuming woman, 
fitly punished for meddling with matters that 
she did not understand. Alexandria need not 
have mourned, nor Theodosius have avenged 
her. What noble woman could read her story 
and not prefer to be Pelagia? For divine Art's 
sake, the Amal should have lived, and been won 
to a nobler life through his bride. The kinship 
between Philammon and his sister was no mere 
tie of the flesh : it underlay the Avhole natures 
of the two, and should have justified to both 
the ways of God with man. Pelagia, when she 

3 



34 HYPATIA : A REVIEW. 

threw aside the love-philter of old Miriam, and 
demanded to reign in her own right or not at 
all ; Pliilammon, when he withstood the tempta- 
tions of Hypatia's presence, — was nobler, ay, 
nearer to Christ, than, as these volumes would 
have it, our philosopher ever showed herself. 

Hypatia w^as at the head of the Eclectic, or 
Neo-Platonic school. This school was one which 
arose in consequence of the growing strength 
of Christianity, after the first Platonic philosophy 
had died out. The new Christianity absorbed 
into itself some of the worst errors of old Pagan- 
ism, and sustained itself by metaphysics and 
enormities w^iich disgusted the refined. In 
this Neo or Neio Platonism, there was, had its 
disciples only known it, much of the truth which 
Christ came to proclaim, — to proclaim by a pure 
life and earnest soul, unaided by sophistries or 
dialectics. 

It was this truth which gave Hypatia and 
her school strength to stand ; but it was by no 
means in misty declamation alone that they em- 
ployed themselves. They aimed at the fullest 
knowledge of the Absolute, in order to attain 
holiness and happiness, to which they believed 
nothing else could lead ; they recognized in in- 
tuition, w^hich precedes thought, the voice of God ; 



HYPATIA : A REVIEW. 35 

and they doubtless urged in their discourses 
both these points. But they were eminent, also, 
in mathematics and astronomy; and taught at 
Alexandria not only these branches of science, 
but natural philosophy, natural history, and a 
wise investigation of the -universe and its varied 
ranks of being. 

It was to Hypatia that Synesius applied to 
perfect the silver astrolabe which he gave to Peo- 
nius. It was to the same school as Hypatia, that 
Origen, Longinus, Plotinus, and Herennius be- 
longed. 

Mr. Kingsley's devotion to the metaphysics of 
his churchmen has misled him in this book, as it 
did in the very inartistic conclusion to " Alton 
Locke.'' He wearies himself in gathering, for 
Christianity, laurels that she can never wear. 
Let the Heathen claim this bay ; and let us 
seek only, for the Christian Church, the ^^ crown 
of light.'' 



III. 

THE COUNTESS MATILDA. 



*' Una donna soletta, che si gia 
Cantando ed isciegliendo fior da fiore, 
Ond'era pinta tutta la sua via. 
Deh I bella donna, ch'a raggi d'amore 
Ti scaldi s'io vo'credere a sembianti, 
Che soglion esser testimon del cuore, 
. . . . non altrimenti 
Che Tergine che gli occhi onesti avvalli." 

Dante: Purg., can. 28. 



npHE above fragments of the divine song with 
-■- which Dante welcomes to his presence the 
Countess Matilda, when she comes, not merely to 
share with Beatrice the pleasant task of guiding 
him through Purgatory, but to symbolize to him 
and us that spiritual affection which all godly 
rulers should bear toward the Supreme Head of 
the church, sufficiently express the poet's reve- 
rence for her. She who, " maiden-like veiling 
her sober eyes,'' approached him, could hardly 
deserve the ruthless fling of a woman, who 
speaks, with a carelessness for which her igno- 
rance is but a poor excuse, of ^^ the illicit passion 
of her lover, Gregory VII." 



THE COUNTESS MATILDA. 37 



That the ambitious prelate, who, in sincere 
love for his church, — indignant at its corrup- 
tions, and ignorant of the true sources of its 
welfare, — forbade marriage to his clergy, and 
sought to build up his own power over the ruins 
of the empire, should have turned malicious 
tongues upon himself, is not strange. Stranger 
far, that, in modern times, Protestant lips repeat 
the outrage, and liberal thinkers find no merit in 
a friendship so well grounded, so natural, and, 
in its own age, so imcommon and beautiful, as 
that of the Countess Matilda and Gregory VII. 

That she bequeathed all her possessions to 
the church, gives her a sufficient hold upon the 
affections of CathoHc countries. It is not on that 
account that we recall her well-known name ; 
but because there was blended in her, as Kohl- 
rausch finely says, '' all mental attainments and 
firmness of spirit, beside her austere piety 
and virtue ; '' because we think her one of the 
noblest womanly types of the period in which 
.she lived, and a fair model for the present age, 
so far as regards courage, good faith, and a 
steady purpose. 

In an illuminated poem of Donizone, a portrait 
of the countess is preserved. Seated upon a 
throne which resembles an ancient settle, sur- 



38 THE COUNTESS MATILDA. 

mounted by three pinnacles shaped like fleurs 
de Us, and without arms, the countess Pgrasps 
a white lily in her extended hand. The seat of 
her throne is supported by carved and twisted 
pillars, and colored to a kingly purple. Her 
person and her feet rest upon green cushions 
embroidered with gold. She wears an under- 
vest of crimson, visible only at the hands ; and 
over it a long loose robe of Mazarin blue, of 
which the hanging sleeves are deeply broidered 
with gold and gems. The cloak, of a beautiful 
rose-color, is lined and bordered Avith cloth of 
gold, garnished at the edges with jewels. It 
is loosely hung on one shoulder, only the men 
of that period fastening it securely about the 
throat. She wears yellow stockings. A high 
conical cap of gold-cloth, bordered with jewels, 
allows a delicate rose-colored veil, resembling 
that of a nun, to fall in stiff folds about her face. 
The picture has no value as a portrait ; for, in 
the eleventh century, the art of painting had 
already fallen into hopeless decay : but, as a bit 
of costume, it is extremely valuable ; and the 
countenance is not wanting in a look of uncon- 
querable will. 

It is impossible to separate her history from 
that of her Papal friend and ally. The ^^ monk 



THE COUNTESS MATILDA 



39 



Hilclebrand/' as envious contemporaries delight- 
ed to call him, was born of an obscure ftimily 
of Soano, in Tuscany ; and, becoming a monk of 
Clugny, his rare abilities and acquisitions soon 
brought him into notice. At an early age, he 
accompanied Bruno, Bishop of Tours, to Rome ; 
and by active partisanship secured his election 
to the Papal chair, under the title of Leo IX., in 
1049. At this time, the Countess Matilda was 
only three years old. She was the daughter 
and heiress of Boniface, Marquis of Tuscany, and 
Beatrice, sister of the reigning emperor (Henry 

III.). 

The elevation of the new pope, who belonged 
to the imperial family, formed the first link in 
the chain which united the future interests of 
Hildebrand and the countess. Beatrice, natu- 
rally grateful for the honor thus conferred upon 
her family, taught Matilda to regard him with 
reverent affection. His rigid purity of conduct 
disarmed all maternal scruples. 

Under several successive popes, Hildebrand 
held a position of great influence ; and, by 
Stephen IX., he was sent on a confidential 
mission into Germany. This journey, beside 
leaving impressions, as to the abuses of spiritual 
power, at the German court, which may have 



40 THE COUNTESS MATILDA. 

contributed to his future course, undoubtedly 
tended to strengthen the ties between him and 
the future countess. 

Soon after the death of her husband, who had 
roused the envy of the emperor by reigning with 
Oriental magnificence and hixury over the mar- 
quisate which had been granted him from the 
empire, Beatrice mf^rried Godfrey, Duke of Lor- 
raine; and contracted her young daughter to one 
of liis sons by a former marriage, called Godfrey 
the Hunchback. This alliance displeased the 
emperor. Boniface had left no male heir, and 
Henry wished to bring Tuscany once more 
within the imperial domain. He had refused to 
sustain Godfrey's claim to the duchy of Lower 
Lorraine, which had been left to him by his 
father (Galezo); and could therefore look for 
little cordial support from him in Tuscany : so, 
marching upon Beatrice, he took her and her 
child prisoners, and deprived them of their 
estates. Some authorities state that faithful 
servants concealed the little Matilda from the 
invaders, and brought her up in deadly hate of 
lier uncle's name and nation. At all events, there 
w^as nothing in her eaily experience to attach 
her to the imperial court. She was eleven 
years old when Hildebrand visited Germany ; 



THE COUNTESS MATILDA. 



41 



and whether he saw her there just after the 
death of her arbitrary uncle, or in Tuscany on 
his return, she could feel nothing but affection 
for the man whose influence was even then 
exerted in her favor. 

Henry died in 1056, and Matilda married 
Godfrey. They lived apart, — for Matilda's con- 
stitution could not bear the bracing atmosphere 
of Lorraine, — and the regent Agnes soon found 
means to win Godfrey over to the imperial 
party. In 1073, her friend Hildebrand was 
elected to the Papal chair, under the title of 
Gregory VII. Strangely enough, he sent to 
Henry* IV., and asked his acquiescence in the 
election. Whether Gregory intended to propi- 
tiate him by this show of deference, or whether 
he thought in this manner to deprive him of 
any right to object to the ecclesiastical reforms 
which he wished to secure, cannot now be 
known. 

We can hardly realize in Protestant countries 
the dreadful corruption which had eaten into the 
Roman Church at the time when Gregory took 
his seat. His character has been greatly mis- 
judged by posterity, who have ascribed to a 
ruthless desire for the aggrandizement of his 
temporal kingdom that energy in reform, which 



42 THE COUKTESS MATILDA. 

was inspired by a sincere love for his church, 
and a natural austerity and sense of justice, 
which could not fail to be outraged by the 
condition of its spiritual interests. 

In 1045, the year previous to Matilda's birth, 
three several popes, elected by different factions 
in the church, were sitting at Rome; and, Avhile 
she grew up to womanhood, the most impudent 
simony prevailed throughout the Christian world. 
Muratori tells us, that her own father, by far the 
most powerful prince in Italy, had been flogged 
before the altar, by an abbot, for the selling of 
benefices. Sees were sold or given by sove- 
reigns to favorites, who pandered in the most 
unblushing manner to their basest passions. 
Bishops thus appointed cared but little for the 
interests of their flocks ; and sold, or gambled 
away, the benefices over which, in their turn, 
they held control. 

It was a noble ambition Avhich sought wholly 
to reform the tottering, crippled church ; and it 
was only through that human short-sightedness 
which so frequently appalls us in the world's 
history, that Gregory, forbidden by his religion 
to think of jyojjes as men, never for a moment 
anticipated that frightful abuse of the power 
which he sought to consolidate, which afterwards 



THE COUNTESS MATILDA. 43 

occurred. With his own eyes, he had beheld the 
abuses of the German court during the minority 
of Henry. He had seen the emperor grow up 
to manhood licentiouSj ambitious, and continually 
at war ; ready at a moment to supply an always 
exhausted purse by means which involved the 
worst consequences to himself and the church. 
Gregory had proved himself the friend of the 
emperor and his family, and undoubtedly felt 
justified in sending to Henry a private admoni- 
tion in the very first year of his elevation. 
Finding this unheeded, he held a council in 
the following year, which anathematized Henry^ 
and insisted upon the celibacy of the clergy 
(a measure of immense importance as regards 
the power of the Church over her servants). 

During all the controversies which ensued, 
Matilda stood firmly by her friend. She was at 
this time the most powerful sovereign in Italy, 
and reigned like a queen, says the German 
historian Kohlrausch, throughout Tuscany and 
Lombardy. Like all remarkable women, she had 
a peculiar relish for the administrative energy 
in men. She contended w^ith all her power, 
during thirty years, for the elevation and con- 
solidation of the Papal power. She not only 
embraced this idea with all the strength of her 



44 THE COUNTESS MATILDA. 

natural character; but Gregory's indignation at 
the debased condition of the clergy found a 
ready response from her most austere and rigid 
virtue. 

In 1076, Matilda lost her beloved mother and 
her husband. From this time she devoted her- 
self more unreservedly to the Papal interests. 
In order to make the church independent of 
the temporal powers, Gregory now forbade to 
kings the right of investiture. How wholly her 
woman's heart went with him may be seen from 
the fact, that, in 1077 or '79 (the loss of the 
original record makes it uncertain which), she 
executed an instrument conveying to the Papal 
see the whole of her immense estates. These 
consisted of Lombardy, Tuscany, Mantua, Parma, 
Reggio, Piacenza, Ferrara, Modena, a part of Um- 
bria, Spoleto, and Yerona, — almost all, in fact, 
that now constitute the States of the Church, 
from Viterbo to Orviedo, — with a portion of the 
march of Ancona. 

Hallam, in his "Middle Ages,'' attempts to show 
that Matilda, being herself a subject of the em- 
peror, had no legal right to alienate these estates 
from the empire. But if, as all history asserts, 
Henry III. had forcibly deprived Beatrice of 
them when she incurred his displeasure ; if Ma- 



THE COUNTESS MATILDA. 45 

tilda, at the time she executed this instrument, 
found herself not only re-instated in these posses- 
sions by the aid of Gregory, but the possessions 
themselves greatly increased by his gifts, — 
then she had that very best of rights, which in 
all ages and countries has availed more than any 
other; namely, the riglit of possession hy conquest. 
Nor could it be expected that she would, in such 
an instrument, recognize an authority which she 
had spent her whole life in defying. 

That Matilda did not keep her intentions se- 
cret, is evident from the scandal that followed 
their announcement. The indignant clergy de- 
prived of their wives by Gregory's ban, and con- 
cubines deserted by their priestly lovers, were 
naturally incapable of understanding her grati- 
tude or sharing her lofty generosity. They 
ascribed to a passionate love tlie gift which 
grew out of reverent esteem. But such a scan- 
dal could not spread. Matilda's incomings and 
outgoings were of too much importance to be 
long concealed or misunderstood, and the rigid 
purity of Gregory defied all evil tongues. A 
being highly strung like Matilda, and endowed 
with what the world chooses to call a masculine 
firmness, could not live in an atmosphere which 
such rumors might disturb. 



46 THE COUNTESS MATILDA. 

The difficulties between Gregory and Henry 
were now assuming a more formidable shape, 
and Matilda found more engrossing cares. The 
pope and emperor had mutually deposed each 
other; and, singularly enough, the letter which 
the indignant monarch addressed to the holy 
father proves conclusively that the sympathies 
of a large number of Henry's subjects were on 
Gregory's side. " Thou hast trampled under thy 
feet," he says, ^Hhe ministers of the holy church, 
as slaves who know not what their lord doeth ; 
and by that desecration hast thou won favor 
from the common herd." This insolence induced 
the pontiff to pass a formal sentence of excom- 
munication upon the emperor. Such a sentence 
derives its force from popular opinion; and so 
Henry would have felt, had he been irreproach- 
able. As it was, the empire was elective, and he 
dreaded its effect upon the Diet. Overpowered 
with fear, he hastened to cross the Alps, and 
seek assistance from his mother-in-law the Mar- 
chioness of Savoy, and the pope's friend the 
Countess Matilda. 

Of Adelaide of Savoy little is known; but that 
little shows her to have been a woman of rare 
discretion. Without forfeiting the favor of the 
church, she knew how to extend to Henrv and 



THE COUNTESS MATILDA. 47 

her daughter Bertha all the favor that they 
might expect from a tender mother, — all the aid 
that they might ask of a queen. She ought to 
be remembered with gratitude by all subsequent 
dukes of Savoy ; for, whatever they possessed 
below the Alps, they owed to the manner in 
which she consolidated her estates by a triple 
marriage. By her first and second husbands 
she had no children ; but by the last (Odo, 
Count of Moriana) she had several, one of whom 
(called Amideo) now presided with her over her 
marquisate. She was a woman of learning and 
ability, w^hose favor even Gregory did not think 
it disgraceful to solicit. Her mind seems to have 
misgiven her concerning her repeated espousals, 
and she addressed a letter to Damiano upon the 
subject. The reply of the cardinal, in which he 
re-assures her mind by pointing out the political 
results of these alliances, is still in existence. 
He shows her therein the great influence that 
she has been enabled to exercise over the affairs 
of Italy, and gives her credit for wise principles 
of government and of ecclesiastical discipline. 

When Adelaide heard of the approach of the 
emperor, she went as far as Mount Cenis to meet 
him. Never did a dissolute monarch impose 
upon himself a bitterer penance than Henry. 



48 THE COUNTESS MATILDA. 

The winter was terribly severe ; the Rhine was 
frozen over, from Martinmas to April ; and the 
passage of the Alps was attended by many 
dangers. Henry w^as accompanied by only one 
servant and his empress. The latter, wrapped 
in an ox-hide, was slidden down the precipitous 
paths of Mount Cenis by the hired guides. At 
Susa, the marchioness furnished them Avith more 
attendants, and, Denina says, accompanied him 
herself to the Castle of Canossa, near Reggio, 
where Gregory had paused on his way to the 
Diet, at the intercession of Matilda. This im- 
pregnable castle had been built upon a lofty 
rock by Alberto Azzo, the great-grandfather 
of Matilda, then a feudatory of the Bishop of 
Reggio. 

The severe measures of the pope had made 
him many power|ul enemies ; and, had Henry 
been less terrified by a guilty conscience, he 
would have known how to make the most of 
the evident joy Avith which he was received in 
Upper Italy. Through the influence of Matilda, 
he now received permission to approach the 
pope barefooted, and clad in the hair shirt of a 
penitent. 

In the inclement month of January, 1077, the 
emperor entered the outer court at Canossa. 



THE COUNTESS MATILDA. 49 

The first gate closed behind him ; shutting out 
his escort, and leaving Henr}^ shivering and 
alone. What followed was equally, unworthy 
of the good man and wise ruler that Gregory 
ought always to have shown himself. For three 
whole days, the haughty emperor stood naked 
and forlorn, waiting for pardon. All within the 
castle were moved. As for Henry himself, he 
only besought permission to depart. Matilda, in 
vainly pleading for him, was affected to burning 
tears of pity and grief; and when, on the fourth 
day, the royal penitent was brought into the 
presence of the pope, we can hardly blame him 
if his vows of obedience were neither very 
cordial nor sincere. Nor could Gregory expect 
them to be so. The custom of those times must 
have admitted of somewhat plain speaking ; for 
Gregory himself wrote, that " every one present 
had severely censured him, and said that his 
conduct more resembled the ferocity of a tyrant 
than the severity of an apostle.^' 

Burning with indignation, Henry remained 
throughout the winter in Italy, and assembled 
about his person all the discontented. During 
the years of contest that succeeded, Matilda 
felt the full force of his ire. He forgot the 
tears which she had shed, w^hen he saw her 

4 



50 THE COUNTESS MATILDA. 

manoeuvring her troops, sustaining his sieges, 
urging the pope to endure with firmness such 
evils as were unavoidable, but always enlarging 
her dominions and exalting her own fame. By 
intrigue^ rather than force of arms, he at last 
gained some advantages over her ; and, in the 
beginning of 1081, he marched on Rome, which 
he kept in a state of siege for three years. 

Gregory, in his extremity, had recourse to 
Robert Guiscard, the conqueror of Naples, w^ho 
was indebted to the holy see for much of his 
success. Just upon the point of adding the 
Eastern Empire to his many spoils, Robert, 
wiser than many modern captains who might 
be named, thought it better to secure what he 
already possessed, than to attempt to acquire 
new dominions. He hastened to the aid of the 
pope. Upon the news of his approach, Henry 
withdrew his exhausted troops ; and Gregory 
left the Castle of St. Angelo, in wdiich he had 
taken refuge. 

Not thinking it safe to remain in Rome, the 
latter accompanied Robert to Salerno, where 
he invested him with the duchies of Puglia and 
Calabria, and died in 1085; saying w^ith his last 
breath, ^^ I have loved justice, and hated iniquity: 
therefore am I compelled to die in exile.'' 



THE COUNTESS MATILDA. 51 

His death was a severe blow to Matilda ; but 
she was not likely to mourn with folded hands. 
All Italy was still divided into factions, and the 
troops of Henry continually ravaged Tuscany. 
" It is difficult to decide/' says Muratori, " which 
had derived the greater benefit from their long 
alliance, Matilda or the church.'' Her dominant 
ambition, the purity of her life, and her zeal for 
religion, caused her to feel a real satisfaction in 
arming herself against a monarch whose frivo- 
lous cares enhanced by contrast the reputation 
of his adversaries for piety and soberness. The 
love of command was strong in her; and her 
subjects obeyed her with enthusiasm, because 
in her they obeyed the vicegerent of the Deity. 
On the other hand, she had the privilege of 
availing herself, at all times and everywhere, 
of all ecclesiastical resources. 

Her reputation for brilliant achievements 
spread far and wide ; and, soon after the death 
of Gregory, Robert of Normandy (the son of 
William the Conqueror), who found it somewhat 
difficult to secure his patrimonial inheritance, 
came to Italy to ask her hand in marriage, 
and so secure her assistance. Matilda, feeling 
naturally but little interest in a wooer who was 
unable to defend his own rights, and by no 



52 THE COUNTESS MATILDA. 

means in haste to many, did not hesitate to 
keep him waiting for a while. 

In the mean time, Urban II. took possession 
of the Papal chair, and, with his accustomed 
promptness, turned his eyes upon Matilda. He 
was not far from a very common arrogance, 
which gave him little confidence in a woman's 
administrative energy. He did not understand 
Matilda, now in the very prime of her woman- 
hood ; but, anxious to secure her estates to 
the church, he commanded her to receive the 
addresses of Guelph, — afterwards the Fifth, 
Duke of Bavaria. He was a brave and warlike 
man, ten years younger than his bride : but 
Urban assured Matilda that she would secure a 
noble leader for the armies of Italy, and a strong 
ally for the Papal party in the German States ; 
since his father, the reigning duke, would natu- 
rally prefer the interests of his son to those of 
the emperor. Matilda unwillingly consented. 
The affair remained a mere political alliance, 
the marriage never being consummated. They 
separated at the end of seven years ; Guelph 
not having found a bride of forty-two attractive 
to his restless spirit, and Matilda anxious only to 
secure her inheritance untouched to the Papal 
see. 



THE COUNTESS MATILDA. 53 

Henry was highly indignant at this marriage. 
He had succeeded in imposing Pope Guibert 
upon the greater part of Italy, and he now 
urged on a war against Matilda. Guibert him- 
self besieged Montebello and Modena. Mantua, 
after a siege of twelve months, was lost through 
the treachery of Matilda's captain. Fortresses, 
which Matilda had beHeved to be impregnable, 
now surrendered ; and, astonished at his suc- 
cesses, her father-in-law (the Duke of Bavaria) 
evidently wavered toward the emperor. Her 
subjects prayed for peace ; but it could be had 
only on one condition, — submission to the false 
pope. 

Such a petition was by no means palatable to 
Matilda ; but so great was the exigency, that 
she called a council of her bishops. The Bishop 
of Beggio insisted that it was her duty to lay 
down her arms. What could she do against all 
Italy? Surely God would pardon a defection 
which had its origin in a sincere desire for the 
welfare of her people. Theologians and dignita- 
ries sustained the bishops. The whole council 
were evidently weary of the burden of war. 
They painted in eloquent colors the desolation 
of her estates, the wretchedness of the army; 
and while she sat with glowing cheeks, and 



54 THE COUNTESS MATILDA. 

downcast, tearful eyes, they dreamed, perhaps, 
that the woman would conquer the enthusiast. 
But there stood up, in the midst of that aristo- 
cratic council, an austere man, called John, to 
whom the odor of his sanctity gave the only 
right of entrance. He held up before the eyes 
of the countess the interest of true religion 
and the rights of the church. " Perish people, 
perish property!'^ he cried ; " but let the eternal 
truth live. Lay down your own life, most holy 
countess, should need be ; but do not surrender 
to a false priest." 

Bright visions of a world's redemption swam 
before those tearful eyes. Far beyond the strug- 
gles of this ^vorld, painted in the tints of autumn 
sunset, Matilda saw the peaceful mansions which 
the Church promises to her sanctified ones. She 
listened no longer to depressing counsel : her 
heart burned within her ; and a youthful ardor 
glowed from beneath her lifted lids, and inspired 
her captains, as she led them on in person, to 
drive back Henry from the walls of Montebello. 
He would then have attacked Canossa : but she 
pursued and routed him ; and, regaining in this 
flush of success several important posts, she esta- 
blished her authority more firmly than ever. 

At this period, a new apple of discord fell 



THE COUNTESS MATILDA. 55 

between Matilda and the emperor. Her friend, 
Adelaide of Savoy, died at Turin in 1091. Her 
greatly increased estates should have descended 
to the son, the Duke of Savoy; but Henry, 
trampling upon all justice, sent his son Conrad 
to take possession of them for his own benefit. 
Matilda, moved by those who considered it right 
to violate the ties of nature to sustain what 
they thought to be religion, exerted herself to 
separate Conrad from his father, and offered him 
the crown of Northern Italy. The unhappy 
father sought to secure the person of his son, 
but in vain. Conrad was crowned at Monza; but 
Matilda did not allow his elevation to diminish 
her own authority. A simple countess, she 
reigned at this moment over Italy — notwith- 
standing husband, king, and emperor — with 
more absolute power than was ever enjoyed by 
any son of Charlemagne. 

Her position became still more conspicuous 
when the Empress Pressida took refuge with 
her from the persecution of her husband and 
the unnatural violence of his son. We would 
willingly turn our eyes away from deeds so 
horrible ; but it may help us to forgive Matilda 
for the influence she exerted over Conrad to 
look the atrocious conduct of the emperor full in 



56 THE COUNTESS MATILDA. 

the face. The unhappy Pressida had become 
distasteful to him soon after her marriage, and 
after enduring manifold indignities, had been 
shut up in prison on purpose that she might be 
subjected to the licentious passions of one of his 
sons. Having escaped, and rested for a short 
time under Matilda's roof, she went before the 
council at Piacenza, and received absolution for 
the sin to which she had never consented ; im- 
mediately entering a monastery, where she died 
of grief in less than a year. 

Nor was this the first time that members of the 
imperial house had received protection from 
the family of Matilda. Alberto Azzo received 
into his fortress, at Canossa, Adelaide, the widow 

of Lothario, — afterAvard the wife of Otho I., 

when she fled from the violence of Berengarius 
and the malicious envy of Julia his wife. In 
952, Otho gave him in compensation the title 
of Marquis, and the very cities of Reggio and 
Modena now inherited by Matilda. 

It has been asserted that the countess never 
bestowed her favor as protectress, nor her hand 
in marriage, with any peculiar grace. Nor would 
this be strange. During her long struggles 
with the enemy, so much self-reliance had been 
developed, and all her habits had become so 



THE COUNTESS MATILDA. 57 

energetic and prompt, that she could hardly 
be expected to have much patience with the 
timidity and vacillations of those who shared her 
counsel or sought her aid. 

Finding her authority thoroughly established 
and the emperor quiet, Matilda now sought to 
free herself from her uncongenial connection 
with Guelph. In 1095, they were publicly 
divorced; both protesting that the union had 
been only political. The true causes of their 
unhappiness never transpired ; but the Duke 
of Bavaria was certainly ambitious that his 
descendants should inherit Matilda^s estates. 
Perhaps Guelph shared his father's wishes, 
and was indignant when he found that Matilda 
desired to renew to subsequent popes the con- 
cessions she had previously made to Gregory. 
Indignant at the scandal, as well as the disap- 
pointment, which his family thus encountered, 
the Duke of Bavaria descended to the plains 
of Lombardy, in company with the emperor. 
They found Matilda so well prepared, that they 
had only to withdraw. 

The emperor, finding Conrad Avholly beneath 
Matilda's influence, transferred the succession 
to his second son, afterward Henry V. Conrad 
died at Florence in 1101, — it was supposed, by 



58 THE COUNTESS MATILDA. 

poison; and Matilda was left the sole arbiter 
of Upper Italy, continually strengthening her 
position and adding to her glory. Many of 
her subjects engaged in the holy wars ; but no 
further conflict disturbed their native States. 

After the death of Conrad, the unfortunate 
emperor saw his second son rebel against him. 
Pretending penitence, and seeking for pardon, 
he deluded his father into a strong fortress 
held by his partisans ; and, under the threat of 
instant death, compelled him to surrender the 
imperial insignia, and abdicate in his favor. 
The wretched father wrote supplicating letters 
to one after another of the European courts, 
and died near his friend, the Archbishop of 
Liege, in 1106. 

It was about this time that Matilda is sup- 
posed to have invited into Italy the celebrated 
Irnerius, who was the first lecturer upon juris- 
prudence at Bologna. Ba34e doubts the storj^, 
because there was no public record of his arrival 
until 1128, after the election of Lothario III.; 
yet, in regard to times so confused as those in 
which Matilda lived, a well-sutained tradition 
must always have a great deal of weight. 

Henry V. left Italy in peace for the first four 
years of his reign; and, when he finally marched 



THE COUNTESS MATILDA. 



59 



upon the Papal party with thirty thousand armed 
men, he took good care to remain at peace with 
Matilda. No other sovereign, however, had any 
cause to bless him ; and the pages of Pandolfo 
of Pisa teem with the most shocking records of 
his cruelty. Matilda had renewed her conces- 
sions to Paschal II. ; yet he left them both, for 
the present, at peace. He was not unwise in 
waiting for Matilda's death. Over fourscore 
years and ten, and exhausted by infirmities 
which had been increasing for some years, she 
died in the month of July, 1115, at the Bene- 
dictine convent which she had herself erected 
at Polirone. 

With the quarrels which afterwards took place 
with regard to her estates, we have nothing 
to do. They resulted in the final cession to 
Paschal HI. of most of what is called the 
'^patrimony of the church." She was buried 
in Mantua; from which city her remains were 
solemnly conveyed to St. Peter's by Urban VIII. 
There they now lie beneath a splendid mauso- 
leum. Her effigy represents a woman with 
marked features, — holding in one hand the 
Papal sceptre and tiara ; in the other, the keys 
of the church. At her feet lies her sarcophagus, 
and its precious relievos represent Henry at the 



60 THE COUNTESS MATILDA. 

feet of Pope Gregory. The abject, half-naked 
emperor, kneeling, amid Itahan princes and 
church barons, before the haughty Gregory, 
still calls the blush to the cheek of his imperial 
descendants. Matilda was the most powerful 
ally the church ever knew ; and the manly 
frame of Joseph II. quivered indignantly, when 
he gazed upon this monument to his ancestral 
shame. 

^^ Call no man happy till he dies," says the 
proverb of all nations. Judged by this, Matil- 
da's life holds a singular place in history. Her 
dominions lying between the empire and the 
church, she felt every shock of the sharp but 
heavy waves of conflict. While others tossed 
dizzily through the storms of the time, with a 
clear head she kept her eye always fixed upon 
a single steadfast point, and died possessed of 
all she had ever sought. 



Note. — In the very few words concerning the Countess Matilda, 
wliich are hidden away, between the sketch of Matilda of Flanders 
and that of the Empress Maud, in the " Record of Women," there 
are several errors, which should probably be traced to some older 
compilation. 

A misprint of the figure 4 antedates her birth ten years. 

Her mother Beatrice is stated to liave married Galezo, instead 
of Godfrey of Lorraine, his son. 

Again: it is said, that, after the death of Matilda's husband in 
1076, she married Azo V., Marquis of Ferrara. 



THE COUNTESS MA.TILDA. 61 

The " Biographie Universelle," an authority always at hnnd, 
states distinctly that Matilda was married only twice. As to the 
rest, there is no such person known to history as this Azo V., 
Marquis of Ferrarn, The grandfather and the great-grandfather 
of the person intended were, in fact, the contemporaries of Matilda, 
but had the title of Marquis of Este^ from a little town near their 
estates. The father of Azzo V. took his title of Marquis, after 
Matilda's death, in 1135. His name was Obizzo: and, in 1184, 
Frederick Barbarossa bestowed upon him the marquisates of Milan 
and Genoa; which titles descended to his son Azzo V., Marquis 
of Este. A fraudulent transaction, over which history has chosen to 
draw a veil, made him a citizen merely of Ferrara;, although his son 
Azzo VI. was the first of his name who possessed any authority 
in that city. The ascendency of the Adelardi, long supreme in 
Ferrara, was finally and for a long time disputed by the rival 
family of Torelli. To heal the internal dissensions of the city, the 
last descendant of the Adelardi — a girl named Marchesella — was 
betrothed to one of the rival family of Torelli; but an indignant 
faction violently seized the girl, and compelled her to marry the 
very Azzo V. whom we have seen given to the Countess Matilda, 
dead a century before. Azzo V. died about the year 1200; and, in 
1208, his son by Marchesella — Azzo VI. — w^as elected " Lord of 
Ferrara." This w^as the first example in history of a free Italian 
city giving to itself a lord. For these facts, see Muratori " Anti- 
chita Estensi," Litta's " Famiglie Celebri Italiani," and Alessi's 
" Ricerche Istoriche Critiche." • 

Of course, Matilda never was divorced from a man she never 
married. There is no doubt that her separation from Godfrey 
and her divorce from Guelph gave some support to the scandals 
circulated by her enemies; but if, on the other hand, she married 
only for political reasons, sedulously guarding her own celibacy 
upon religious grounds, there was no reason why she should con- 
tinue linked to men who disappointed her reasonable expectations, 
and acted in the capacity of imperial spies. 



IV. 

CASSANDRA FEDELE. 



" Let her make herself her own ; 
To give or keep, to live and learn and be 
All that not harms distinctive womanhood." 

TENNrSON. 



TT has been said that the hfe of the Countess 
-*- Matilda was hardly worthy of consideration, 
because, if she succeeded in all she undertook, 
she undertook only what was unworthy of a 
noble woman. This remark could not have 
proceeded from a discriminating critic, hardly 
from a reflective one ; for what nobler object 
could any woman of that era propose to herself, 
than the radical reform of the only Christian 
Church, or the consolidation of the only power 
which could be expected to check the most 
degrading social abuses ? We have no sympa- 
thy with her peculiar aims ; but the world, we 
are sure, and history, will rate them, as they 
deserve, among the noblest of the century in 
which she lived. 



CASSANDRA FEDELE. 63 

We are far from proposing to write the lives 
of noble women only, or to select those with 
whose objects and achievements we have the 
most entire sympathy. Historians are not privi- 
leged to reject names because they sully their 
pages. The life of Caesar Borgia is as important 
a contribution to a just estimate of the life of the 
race, as that of Constantino, or Philip the Good. 
The life of Woman has yet to be written ; and 
we should do small justice to her sphere, her 
achievements, or her hopes, if we held up to 
men's eyes only the names of the pure and the 
high-hearted, the lives of those prominent for 
philanthropy or virtue. In seeking, as we do at 
this moment, a wider field, a broader opening, 
for her, we shall not put out of sight, or meanly 
ignore, such beacons — fog-lights, if you will — 
as Lucretia Borgia, Isotta Nogarola, or Lady 
Hamilton. 

The subject of our present essay is mentioned 
by Lady Morgan in close connection with a 
woman of very diiferent character. She speaks 
of the accomplished scholar Politian as finding 
learning no protection against love : he was 
twice — 

"Bit; 
And liked that dangerous thing, a female wit.'* 



64 CASSANDRA FEDELE. 

His first love was Alessandra Scala ; and, with a 
vanity that we shall be expected to pardon in 
a man, he strove to secure immortality for her 
Greek verses by printing them with Ms own 
icorks. His next Muse was Cassandra Fedele, a 
Venetian girl, who seems to have been much 
^^ too pretty for a pedant,'' and was perhaps 
" only a woman of genius ; for he talks of the 
playful and infantine graces of her style." She 
was, besides, an improvvisatrice ; and this talent, 
Lady Morgan thinks, might ^^ sit Avell upon a 
young and handsome woman." As these flippant 
remarks constitute the only allusion to Cassandra, 
with which we are acquainted, in recent litera- 
ture, we may be excused perhaps for remarking, 
first, that there is not the smallest reason to 
believe that Politian was ever in love with the 
young girl whose charms he sung ; and, second, 
that it is a little amusing to find a woman of 
genius ranked beloio a pedant, from whom Lady 
Morgan herself shrinks, as if totally forgetful 
of the sweet j^oung face of Lady Jane Grey, 
whose beauty was not more remarkable than 
that traditional learning which Ave have been 
accustomed to consider something far more 
important than ^^ a playful or infantine grace 
of style." 



CASSANDRA FEDELE. 65 

Cassandra Fedele was born in Venice, probably 
in 1465 ; though conflicting traditions have ren- 
dered the date a Httle uncertain, and it may- 
have been nine years earher. She belonged to 
a noble family of Milan attached to the Visconti, 
and driven out with them from that city. In 
her earliest years, she showed such a disposition 
to learn, that her father caused her to be in- 
structed in Greek and Latin letters, in philoso- 
phy, history, eloquence, and theology. Poetry 
and music she pursued as a relaxation. 

She was still a child when she attracted gene- 
ral admiration; and learned men, distinguished 
travellers, as well as skilful casuists, loved to 
gather about her to hear her pleasant talk. Per- 
haps Politian was one of these; for she dedicated 
one of her early epistles to him; and, in reply, he 
did his best to transmit her honors to posterity. 
He expresses his astonishment that she can 
write so well. He compares her to the Muses, 
and to all the women of antiquity whom talents 
or learning had rendered famous. 

Until this time, the chief object of his admira- 
tion had been Griovanni Pico della Mirandola ; a 
man so remarkable for erudition and resplendent 
genius, that, in the age of Lorenzo dei Medici, 
he was called " the Phoenix.'' He now ventured 

5 



66 CASSANDRA FEDELE. 

to transfer to Cassandra this public homage. 
The gifts and acquirements of the woman, to 
whom a man of Politian's standing would dare 
to pay such a compliment in a published work, 
must have been of no ordinary kind. 

He commences this epistle by quoting Vir- 
gil,— 

" decus Italiae, virgo ! " — 

and continues: "Thou writest, Cassandra! let- 
ters full of ingenious subtilty; no less attractive 
on account of a certain girlish and virginal 
simplicity, than worthy of consideration from 
their prudence and good sense. I have read 
also an oration of thine, learned and eloquent ; 
full of talent, dignity, and music. Thou possess- 
est also the art of the improvvisatrice, in which 
so many orators are delScient ; and I am told that 
thou art so skilled in philosophy and dialectics 
as to untie the Gordian knot when all other 
hands have failed. Girl as thou art, thou dost 
not fear to contend with men, defending or 
combating the questions proposed to thee ; 
thy womanliness detracting nothing from thy 
courage, thy courage nothing from thy modesty, 
thy modesty nothing from thy wit.'' — L. iii. c. 17. 
After proving her so abundantly well able to 



CASSANDRA FEDELE. 67 

provide for herself, it is rather mortifying that 
he should conclude, like more modern eulogists, 
by earnestly wishing her a good husband. 

Beside a wide correspondence with the scho- 
lars of her time, Cassandra held near personal 
relations to several contemporary sovereigns. 
She was greatly esteemed by Leo X., Lewis XIL 
of France, and Ferdinand of Arragon. Isabella of 
Castile earnestly strove to attract her to her 
court; and a person of some distinction in those 
days, John Aurelius Augurello, a Latin poet of 
Rimini, urged her to accept the invitation. Cas- 
sandra was inclined to do so ; but the republic 
of Venice, anxious to preserve its greatest orna- 
ment, refused to permit her departure. 

She was chiefly remarkable at this time for 
her eloquence, and owed her reputation, in 
a great measure, to Latin orations publicly 
delivered on different occasions. One of these 
was pronounced at Padua in 1487, when a 
relation of her own, a canon, received the degree 
of Doctor of Laws. At Padua, also, she must 
have studied ; for Battista Fregoso praises her 
purity of character, and speaks of the skill with 
which she disputed in public there. He adds, 
that she published a book entitled " Alle Ordine 
delle Scienze ; '^ and this is a valuable fact, 



68 CASSANDRA FEDELE. 

because it shows that she did not despise, as 
has been slanderously asserted, the literature 
of her native tongue. In allusion to a similar 
matter, Tiraboschi wisely says, '^ It is hardly 
likely that she, who excelled in all other studies, 
should have neglected this." 

Two other discourses, one upon the birth of 
Christ, and another in praise of belles-lettres 
{De Literarum Laicdibus), were delivered by 
her at Venice, in the presence of the doge, the 
senate, and an immense literary assembly, con- 
vened expressly to hear her. 

The men of the Venetian Republic must have 
had liberal ideas in regard to feminine culture : 
and that which Cassandra had received could 
hardly have impaired her natural attractions, as 
Lady Morgan so delicately hints ; for she was 
sought in marriage by many persons. 

Her father conferred her hand upon Giam- 
maria Mapelli, a Venetian physician, destined by 
the republic to exercise his profession at Retimo, 
in the Isle of Candia. Thither Cassandra followed 
him. In returning, many years after, they were 
exposed to a terrible tempest, and, besides losing 
nearly all they possessed, were for many hours 
beset by the perils of death. 

In 1521, Mapelli died; and, having no children 



CASSANDRA FEDELE. G9 

to inherit either her beauty or her learning, 
Cassandra devoted herself to study, and benevo- 
lent cares. Tommasini and Niceron, the latter 
a biographer who lived near her own time, and 
carefully authenticated his statements, say that 
she was chosen Superior of the Hospitallers of 
St. Dominic at Venice; over which she presided 
for twelve years, dying at the age of one hundred 
and two. An entry in the register of the con- 
vent states that she was interred on the 26th of 
March, 1558; and, if the above story is true, must 
have been born at least as early as 1456. 

A collection of her letters and discourses, with 
a sketch of her life, was published at Padua by 
Phillippo Tommasini in 1636, nearly a century 
after her death. This contains all that remains 
to us of her works. 

There is a story in existence, with regard to 
Politian, which would materially affect the value 
of his testimony as to the purity of Cassandra's 
character. It asserts that he was himself con- 
sumed by an infamous passion, and died its 
ignoble victim ; it is sometimes said, dashing his 
brains out against the wall of his chamber. 
It is proper, therefore, to state in this connec- 
tion, that this story is believed to be without 
foundation, and that his death is attributed by 



70 CASSANDRA FEDELE. 

the best authorities, Pierius Yalerianus for ex- 
ample, to grief for the death of his friend, 
Lorenzo the Magnificent, in 1492, followed as it 
was by the many misfortunes which beset the 
house of Medici, on the entrance of Charles 
VIII. into Italy, in 1494. 



V. 



WOMEN OF THE HOUSE OF 
MONTEFELTRO. 



" A plant they have, yielding a three-leaved bell 
Which whitens at the heart ere noon." 

" Who began 
The greatnesses you know? " 

SOEDELLO. 



rriHE student of Italian history is frequently 
-*- startled to perceive how, in single families, 
the power of genius makes itself felt for centu- 
ries ; not always skipping, like other " pestilent 
evils/' the second generations, but handed quiet- 
ly down from mother to daughter and grand- 
daughter. 

It is a peculiarity of historians, which may 
serve to show the way in which women are re- 
garded, that, in writing of distinguished women, 
they never fail to tell you whom they married ; 
and, should it happen to have been a man 
of wealth and station, the wife is treated as an 
appendage to that wealth and station; and, if she 
was worthy, we are told how she adorned it. 



72 WOMEN OF THE 

But distinguished men are persons of themselves : 
we are told how they go to the wars or stay at 
home, disposing of their children in marriage ; 
and, should these children show noble traits 
hardly to be expected from the rank or the 
wickedness of their sires, we are frequently left 
in doubt as to the mothers that bore them. It 
seems as if men thought the mother of no im- 
portance, unless, from her political connections, 
she increased the power or the domain of her 
husband. Thus the mothers of natural children 
are almost never mentioned ; and yet it was this 
infusion of vigorous plebeian blood into the 
veins of noble families, brought about, to be 
sure, by a laxity of public morals which nothing 
could. make tolerable, that saved such families 
as the Sforze, the Visconti, and the Malatesti 
from utter extinction. Whatever were the legal 
rights of natural children, these succeeded to 
the family honors by mere force of strength and 
ability. 

The house of Montefeltro gave many noble 
women to the noble lines of the fourteenth and 
fifteenth centuries in Upper Italy. 

It was of a warlike family that Battista da 
Montefeltro was born. Her father was Count 
Antonio Montefeltro, Lord of Urbino. We are 



HOUSE OF MONTEFELTRO. 73 

not told even the name of her mother ; and we 
are left in utter ignorance why a leader among 
the Ghibellines should have married his only 
daughter to a Malatesti, who must have been a 
prominent Guelph. It seems fair to suggest 
that such a measure may have been intended to 
heal local divisions, like the marriage between 
the houses of Torelli and Adelardi at Ferrara. 

Be this as it may, Battista was one of the 
most remarkable women of her century. On 
several occasions, she addressed the Emperor 
Sigismund, Pope Martin V., and the College of 
Cardinals, in Latin. Bishop Campano states, 
that the pope, although a man of much erudi- 
tion, felt himself entirely unable to answer her. 
She taught philosophy in public ; and disputed 
often with the most skilful professors of her 
time, compelling each of them in turn to recog- 
nize her superiority. She wrote some sacred 
hymns and other poetry ; and published a song 
full of energy and spirit, dedicated to Italian 
princes. A testimony to her learning and taste 
may be found in the pamphlet ^^ De Studiis et 
Literis,'' dedicated to her by Leonardo Bruni of 
Arezzo, and printed at Basle in 1433. 

In 1405, she married Galeazzo Malatesta, Lord 
of Pesaro ; to which sovereignty he does not 



74 WOMEN OF THE 

appear to have succeeded until the death of his 
father in 1438. But little is known of him ; 
and the traditions concerning the family are 
so confused, that they have bewildered even 
the clear-headed Sismondi, who speaks of his 
grand-daughter at one time as his daughter, and 
again as his niece. Battista had one daughter, 
Lisabetta, by Malatesta ; who was so unfortunate 
as to marry Piero-gentile da Varano, Lord of 
Camerino. 

Camerino had been inherited by three bro- 
thers, — Berardo, Giovanni, and Piero-gentile ; 
and was governed by them jointly. Berardo was 
the oldest, and only half-brother to the others. 
He was married, and a large family of his 
own made him feel dissatisfied to see so small 
an inheritance divided among so many. He 
communicated his discontent to Vitelleschi, the 
confidential minister of the reigning pope, Eu- 
gene IV. 

Vitelleschi believed, that, if he secured the 
ruin of the Varano Family, he should be able to 
attach Camerino to the apostolic see. We can- 
not guess what lure he held out to Berardo ; 
but he advised him to destroy his brothers, and 
ofi^ered to assist him. The family of Piero-gen- 
tile were seized, and put to death at Recanati, 



HOUSE OF MONTEFELTRO. 75 

the seat of his own bishopric; while Berardo 
himself put his younger brother to death at 
Camerino. Vitelleschi then privately incited 
the inhabitants against the assassin; and, to 
avenge the murdered brothers, the people of 
Camerino, in their turn, put Berardo and all 
his family to death. 

From this terrible massacre, Costanza da Ya- 
rano and her younger brother escaped, perhaps 
by the aid of her maternal grandmother. Lisa- 
betta, it is believed, perished at Recanati with 
her husband; and the children were immediately 
adopted by Battista. 

This massacre took place in 1434. The people 
of Camerino, willing to disappoint the wicked 
bishop, determined to erect their seigniory into 
a republic. The fortune of war, however, threw 
them into the hands of Francesco Sforza,w^hen he 
soon afterwards conquered the march of Ancona; 
a fact of some importance to Costanza's future 
history. 

At this time, she was six years old ; and her 
adoption by her bereaved grandmother changed 
the whole current of her life. She received a 
very careful literary education, to which she 
owed the subsequent prosperity of her family. 
Much as Battista had suffered in the early 



76 WOMEN OF THE 

and terrible death of her only child, she had too 
much spirit to allow her grandchildren to sub- 
mit to an injustice. Circumstances led both her 
and her husband, now childless, to look forward 
with interest to Costanza's marriage. In 1438, 
the old Lord of Pesaro died, and Galeazzo came 
to his inheritance. In times of so much civil 
and political disturbance, it was impossible for a 
man of his age to maintain his independence 
without the aid of a young condottiero. He was 
the head of the younger branch of the family, 
and the head of the elder irritated him by 
ceaseless hostilities. 

Things were in this state, when, in 1442, 
Francesco Sforza crossed the marquisate of 
Ancona. He was a natural son of the great 
peasant leader, Giacomuzzo Attendolo Sforza ; 
and had made himself and his brother Alessandro 
so formidable, that Visconti thought proper to 
buy his friendship with the hand of his beautiful 
and accomplished daughter Bianca, and the sove- 
reignty of Cremona and Pontremoli. 

Before this Countess Bianca, Costanza, sus- 
tained by the high-spirited Battista, noAv ap- 
peared, and in elegant Latin verse, at the age of 
fourteen, demanded the restitution of Camerino, 
now in Sforza's hands, to her young brother 



HOUSE OF MONTEFELTRO. 77 

Ridolpho. It was a bold step, and required 
more than common confidence in herself. 

Sforza, however, was no man to be influenced 
by appeals, unless backed by solid advantages 
he could comprehend. With him her verses 
availed nothing ; but the fame of them spread 
through Italy. Guiniforte Barzizza, then at 
Milan, wrote her a letter filled with congratula- 
tions and praises. Unacquainted with her him- 
self, he confessed his astonishment that a girl 
of fourteen could write with such purity. ^^ He 
thought it,'' he said, " an honor to Italy, that 
her women now excelled the greatest orators 
of other lands.'' The compliment was worth 
something ; for it was ofiered to no favorite of 
fortune, but to a portionless orphan, whose near- 
est relative had not strength enough to hold his 
small inheritance. 

The admiration felt for her throughout all 
Italy inspired her with courage to make a new 
attempt. She appealed again to Alphonso, King 
of Naples, a prince well known for his love of 
letters. He was called Alphonso the Magnani- 
mous, and proved himself worthy of the title by 
pushing Costanza's claim. By his aid, Camerino 
was restored to Ridolpho ; and, when he was 
installed in his seigniory in 1444, Costanza 
addressed his people in a Latin oration. 



78 WOMEN OF THE 

We do not know the terms upon which 
Camerino Avas restored ; but the restoration 
was accompanied by her marriage to Alessandro 
Sforza, and the sale of the seigniories of Pesaro 
and Fossombrone to her husband for the sum 
of twenty thousand florins. We have seen it 
stated by some Italian author, that Malatesta 
entered a convent soon after parting with his 
sovereignty; but we cannot identify the refer- 
ence. 

Battista's disappointments were not ended. 
Costanza^s marriage must have gratified the 
highest ambition of her family. Alessandro 
Sforza was also a natural son of the great 
commander ; and, if not so terrible in war as 
Francisco, was still one of the greatest of Italian 
generals, and a man made in a far nobler mould. 
If Costanza was happy, she enjoyed her happi- 
ness for a short time only. In the first year of 
her marriage, she gave birth to a daughter, 
whom she gratefully named Battista ; and in 
1447, eight days after the birth of her son 
Costanzo, breathed her last. Her husband was 
amply able to protect the children that she left; 
and, in the same year, the broken-hearted Battista 
entered the Convent of Santa Lucia at Foligno. 
A few Latin orations and epistles remain to 



HOUSE OF MONTEFELTRO. 79 

prove Costanza's genius: they are published in 
the collections of the Abbe Lazzarini. 

In less than a year from the time she entered 
the Clarist convent at Foligno, on the 3d of 
July, 1448, Battista Montefeltro died. We give 
this date upon the authority of Sismondi, but 
do not know where he obtained it. 

It has been stated that nothing remains to 
justify Battista's reputation. Beside the song 
before alluded to, a collection, published at 
Florence in 1485, contains articles by her ; and 
her " Harangue '' before the Emperor Sigismund 
was pubhshed by Mitarelli at Venice in 1779. 
In 1787, Abbati Olivieri published " Notizie de 
Battista de Montefeltro." 

All who are familiar with the history of the 
period know how diflScult it is to reconcile 
the conflicting statements of the time. Only a 
disproportionate amount of study can do it. Its 
difficulty may be partly understood from the 
fact, that, in a writer like Sismondi, we find 
varying and contradictory accounts of the sale 
of Pesaro. So far as Battista is concerned, the 
confusion has been increased by confounding her 
husband Galeazzo with his grandfather, Galeotto 
Malatesta; while the story of her early death, 
which is generally believed, is manifestly incon- 



80 WOMEN OF THE 

sistent with her adoption of Costanza, not born 
till eighteen years after. 

Costanza left two children^ Battista and Costan- 
zo. The latter inherited the position of his father, 
and we are told that his magnificence and gene- 
rosity imparted a temporary lustre to the little 
court he collected about him at Pesaro. 

Battista espoused Federigo Due d^Urbino, 
her third cousin, in the fourteenth year of her 
age. At this time she visited the court of 
Francesco Sforza, and recited a Latin oration, 
as Tiraboschi quaintly says, ^^ to the wonder of 
all.'' She addressed the distinguished strangers 
who visited her, in extempore Latin ; and, as 
Duchess of Urbino, harangued Pope Pius IL 
with such eloquence, that, though a gifted and 
very learned man, he declared he had not power 
to reply. At that time, she impressed the 
literary circle about her as a person of even 
rarer gifts than her mother or grandmother. 

Her husband Federigo, the first Duke of Ur- 
bino, was as remarkable as herself He was a 
firm friend of her father and uncle ; and, by his 
early progress, placed himself in the ranks of the 
best instructed and most witty, as well as most 
magnificent, princes of the fifteenth century. 
He stimulated artists to adorn his capital, and 



HOUSE OF MONTEFELTRO. 81 

collected the finest library in Italy. It is related 
as characteristic of him, that, on the sacking 
of Sansovino, he chose as his only share of the 
booty a magnificent Hebrew Bible, with which 
he enriched his library. 

In this union, so remarkably congenial for the 
period in which she lived, Battista remained 
but a few years. She died in 1472, at the early 
age of twenty-seven. As Duchess of Urbino, no 
less than as a woman of letters, she received a 
magnificent funeral, and an oration was delivered 
in honor of her by Bishop Campano. From this 
almost all that is now known of her must be 
gleaned. In it he speaks of her great-grand- 
mother, Battista Montefeltro, as the most cele- 
brated woman of her time, whose learning and 
eloquence challenged the admiration of the most 
renowned persons. He adds, and it says more 
for the original power of the woman than volumes 
of eulogy, that the questions started by her keen 
insight were still vehemently debated. On his 
pages blooms the three-leaved lily of the house 
of Montefeltro, and the successive generations 
are shown worthy of the parent stock. 

With Battista, Duchess of Urbino, our sketch 
should properly close. It was of her that Tasso 
wrote, — 



82 WOMEN OF THE 



" La prima che Demosthene e Platone, 
Par ch'abbia avanti, e le^rga anche Plotino 
D'eloquenza e savere al parugoiie, 
Ben potra star, con T Orator d'Arpino, 
Moglie fra d'un invitto alto campione 
Fedrigo duca dell' antica Urbino." 

Can. xliv. st. 57. 



No literary remains attest to the student of 
history the broad renown of the second Battista; 
but the sacred fire of her genius left its traces on 
many a ducal house, and to the watchful eye it 
gleams from many a later coronet. She appears 
to have left several children, — a daughter, who 
carried into the house of La Rovere the duchy 
of Urbino ; and a son, Guido Ubaldo, the last 
Duke of Urbino of the house of Montefeltro. 

He held a brilliant and polished court; and, 
preserving the literary tastes of both his parents, 
was at once so gentle and so munificent, that he 
became the most tenderly cherished of Italian 
sovereigns. He was endowed with wonderful 
eloquence ; spoke Latin like his mother-tongue, 
and Greek as well as either. His memory w^as 
remarkable, and he was w^ell acquainted with 
the geography of every country and the history 
of every people. He had been too intimately 
associated with learned women not to feel their 
full value, and to be free from the mean jealousy 



HOUSE OF MONTEFELTRO. 83 

which a smaller soul might have felt. His wife 
was worthy of him. Isabella Gonzaga had the 
finest mental gifts ; and, through their joint in- 
fluence, the court of Urbino became the favorite 
seat of elegant literature. The poets, savants, 
philosophers, and artists, of an age that produced 
many great men, lived in the most intimate rela- 
tions with the duke and duchess. 

Nor did the literary woman disappoint the 
husband's hopes. When a cruel disease deprived 
the duke of the use of his limbs for fifteen 
years, the brilliant centre of the courtly circle 
became the faithful, gentle nurse ; and childless 
as she remained, and in an age when fidelity 
among men was an undreamed-of possibility, 
her husband's affections never wandered. 

At his death, the duchy, in compliance with 
his wish, passed into his sister's family, and was 
inherited by Francesco Maria de la Rovere. 

Volumes might be filled with the lives of those 
who owe their existence and their genius to the 
three heroines of the house of Montefeltro ; but 
we have already encroached upon the patience 
of the reader. There was another remarkable 
Battista of the Varano Family, descended from 
that Ridolpho to whom Costanza restored the 
seigniory of Camerino. 



84: THE HOUSE OF MONTEFELTRO. 

Still nearer to our own time, and not to be 
forgotten in connection with his illustrious an- 
cestry, was Alphonso de Yarano, the restorer 
of modern Italian poetry, descended from the 
dukes of Camerino. He was born at Ferrara 
in 1705, and closed a long and peaceful life in 
June, 1788. His poems went through many edi- 
tions, producing a profound impression. Monti 
finally completed the work that Varano began. 
He had been a laborious student, and his works 
were published the year after his death. 

Ugoni says, '^ The ^ Sacred Visions ' of Varano 
gave a new direction to Italian poetry. The 
Italian Muse no longer chanted for love alone. 
In the midst of universal aberration, the Visions 
produced a sudden change. They showed of 
what power and majesty the Tuscan tongue was 
capable in the hands of one who knew all its 
resources. They showed enthusiasm subjected 
to art, depth of thought, and polish in execution. 
They had the still greater merit of stimulating 
Monti, and enabling him to develop the taste for 
a severe and lofty style of verse.'' 



VI. 

BOLOGNA AND ITS WOMEN 



" Receive truth from love for the truth itself, and be not jealous of her 
who devotes herself to tell it to you. Listen not to those who seek to depre- 
ciate her words by accusing her person ; for the weaknesses of the individual 
belong to man, but the word of truth belongs to God." — Constant. 

'' Why should Woman surrender her peculiar power, to convince mankind 
of her peculiar feebleness? " 

" We turn unrefreshed from such an experiment to seek the serene home 
which Mary Ware blesses with counsel." 

" Would it not be better, for women who have time enough to utter their 
public protests against misery and crime, to spend that nature and temper, 
so exquisitely made for charity, in silent alleviation of some of the evils that 
implore their intervention? " — Cfiristian Examiner^ 1854. 



rpHESE last are a few sentences taken at 
-*- random, we trust not unfairly, from an 
article contributed to the leading journal of 
the most liberal denomination in this country; 
contributed, too, by a scholar and a clergyman : 
and we write the last word with peculiar sorrow, 
because it seems to us, that one who knows any 
thing practically, as every clergyman should, 
of the misery of the lower classes of women, on 
this continent still so fresh and young, should 
write with tenderness of the movement women 
have begun. No man, holding such a position, 



86 BOLOGNA AND ITS WOMEN. 

should be indifferent to it, or contented with the 
popular impression of its leaders. He should 
read our reports and papers ; he should seek to 
know the women who have risked thus all that 
is most dear to them ; and if he find, here and 
there, an advocate whose zeal outruns her dis- 
cretion, let him ask himself Avhether men are 
never found, who in the same manner scotch 
the wheels of their party or faith. We do not 
believe in controversy, — in advocating this re- 
form, above all others, by the battle of words : 
we would rather assert and re-assert the truth 
of God. But such sentences, written by such a 
man, sorely tempt us aside. 

It is hard for those of us who have loved and 
known Mary Ware, and who have been honored 
with her love and high regard, to be told that 
her life is our rebuke. We loved her where she 
stood, with her hands full of domestic ties : but 
we remember that at Osmotherly she became a 
somewhat public character ; and we know, that, 
if she could stand where some of us stand, she 
w^ould do as we are doing. Let no one dare to 
imply that we undervalue such a life ; and, for 
the rest, let us " bless '' those we love with wise 
'^ counsel," and let the " serenity " of our homes 
be our only answer. 



BOLOGNA AND ITS WOMEN. 87 

Had our author investigated his subject with a 
suitable fairness, the character of those who are 
leading in this movement would have checked 
him ere he wrote the heading to his article. He 
would have known, that among the most zealous 
advocates of this reform are those who have 
followed for years in the footsteps of the lonely 
and the depraved, and that they do not check 
their private charity because they feel that they 
have a public duty. There is implied in the 
accusation something resembling the popular 
idea, that a student cannot be a good wife and 
mother : why, then, let our author answer, a 
good husband and father ? 

The tone of this article is the more likely 
to strengthen existing prejudices, because it 
seems to be liberal ; because it asks for higher 
wages, better education, and makes no very 
strong objection to a Mary Somerville or a 
Lucretia Mott. Surely, if the result of all our 
efforts shall only show us how weak we are, all 
this manly argument to save us might be spared. 
Let us rest, and we shall soon dethrone ourselves. 

Yet again, if the best that we can do is only to 
" rehash ^^ the well-cooked dishes of our masters, 
is there any great danger that we shall wander 
far from their control ? 



88 BOLOGNA AND ITS WOMEN. 

Let it be said, and let it be believed, — for our 
lives will justify us in demanding such a faith, — 
that many of us who demand for women at large 
the exercise of civil powers, do it not on account 
of a " brawling ambition,'' nor with the smallest 
reference to ourselves ; but because we believe 
that such a proof that men regard them as 
responsible human beings, full of the authority 
and dignity of womanhood, would call out the 
self-respect, and power of usefulness, that in a 
large majority of women now lie dormant; and, 
furthermore, because we believe that men ought 
to leave us as free as we have been compelled to 
leave them, and have no more right to decide 
what we shall do, or what we shall not, than we, 
reciprocally, to decide for them. 

But what, some one may think it quite time 
to ask, has all this to do with Bologna and its 
women? Simply this: that just as w^e were 
about to do honor to some names in her fair 
past, and show how women can be at once 
good doctors in physics, and tender wives and 
mothers ; how they can utter sound philosophy 
in the market-place, and not neglect the sweet 
charities of home, — this article appeared ; and 
we thought fit to preface our observations in 
this wise. 



BOLOGNA AND ITS WOMEN. 89 

Italy has always been remarkable for her 
pride in her learned women. Her men have 
been generous, their laurels all too green for 
them to fear the warm breath of a woman's 
renown. But, among the cities of Italy, Bologna 
stood pre-eminent in this regard. 

At a very early period, the children of the 
middle classes in Italy had as much care ex- 
pended upon their education as the children of 
noblemen in England. Petrarch and Boccaccio 
were instances of this. Thus many opportuni- 
ties were thrown open to Italian w^omen ; and 
the inducement to use them was found in the 
state of society. For w^omen of rank, riding, 
driving, and dancing were the only resource, 
beside dishonorable love or coquettish intrigue. 
Superior persons there were, who sought nobler 
employments than these last; and, that what 
they gained in learning they did not lose in 
good house-keeping or wife-like truth, history 
affords, fortunately, the best of evidence. 

After Bonaparte's coronation at Milan, he 
turned abruptly round, and asked a lady where 
her husband was. " At home, sire.'' — '' What is 
he doing? " he resumed. " Fa niente," she said 
dryly. ^^ Fa niente, fa niente," re-iterated the 
emperor, ^^ always this cursed doing nothing ; " 



90 BOLOGNA AND ITS WOMEN. 

and he immediately gave orders, that, in all invi- 
tations from his court, husbands should hence- 
forth be included with their wives. Trivial as 
this incident may seem, it was the beginning of 
a very important reform. It threw a new and 
healthy life into society ; and the fashionable 
gallant became, from that moment, one too 
many. That it w^as necessary, is the point to 
which we would direct attention, as illustrating 
the poverty of Italian life. No one wall doubt, 
that, under such circumstances, those women 
who were best calculated to make faithful wives 
and mothers would be the most likely to turn to 
literature as the only fitting employment of their 
leisure hours. 

The origin of the city of Bologna is lost in 
obscurity. It was once a city of the ancient 
Etruscans, under the name of Felsina. Its 
university is the oldest, and still one of the first, 
in Italy ; nor has there ever been a time, from 
its foundation to the present day, when there 
were not connected with it ripe scholars, who 
drew to it illustrious persons from abroad. It 
is said to have been founded by Theodosius II., 
A.D. 425, and to have been restored by Charle- 
magne. Its schools of medicine and law have 
been most widely celebrated. Bologna was the 



BOLOGNA AND ITS WOMEN. 91 

first city in the world to found schools of juris- 
prudence, and the first teacher of the civil law. 
Irnerius was called to the professor's chair by a 
woman,— i\iQ Countess Matilda, the noble-minded 
friend of Gregory VII. This was about the 
year 1100; and, from that time, the reputation 
of having studied at Bologna was a passport to 
office throughout Christendom. The existence 
of the University gave rise to libraries and other 
literary institutions, and naturally turned the 
minds of the women to the subjects which 
interested the society about them. 

Political economists would do well, perhaps, to 
consider, that what was and is the most literary 
city of all Italy, retains, in spite of political 
reverses, a position of thrift and activity not 
equalled on the peninsula. The higher classes 
are extremely cultivated, and the people industri- 
ous ; and there seems to us a natural connection 
between the lives of the learned women who 
even in this century render Bologna illustrious, 
and the public school, where, in 1833, Valeri tells 
us that the children of the poor were gratuitously 
taught Latin, mathematics, singing, and drawing. 
That the people of Bologna are more independent 
than those of the other cities of Italy, has never 
been attributed to the influence of letters ; and 



92 BOLOGNA AND ITS WOMEN. 

yet who has ever studied or written with true 
enthusiasm, and not been grateful for the vigor 
it is thus possible to nourish in spite of political 
or personal reverses ? 

That this University, numbering once its ten 
thousand students, where the dead body was 
first dissected, and where the galvanic current 
was first recognized and measured, should move 
the enthusiasm even of women, was not strange ; 
but how early it did so we have no precise 
information. 

Panciroli states that Accorsa, the daughter 
of Accorso, the celebrated professor of jurispru- 
dence at Bologna, taught jurisprudence from 
her father^s chair as early as the middle of 
the thirteenth century. He has been followed 
by many other authors : but the patient and 
trustworthy Tiraboschi says, with a little mannish 
spite, *^ There are those, it seems, who think 
that the' reputation of so many learned men is 
not sufficient for the honor of the University, 
which they would fain render more illustrious 
through many talented women ; '' and he goes 
on to prove, that, so far as he can discover, the 
said Accorsa was a fabulous personage. 



BOLOGNA AND ITS WOMEN. 93 

At the same period, Bettisia Gozzadini as- 
sumed the cap and gown, together with the title 
of Doctor. The only trustworthy memorial of 
her is to be found in the following extract from 
an old calendar of the University of Bologna : 
" Oct. 23, hac die, A. autem S. 1236, celeberrima 
D. Bethisia, filia D. Amatoris de Gozzadinis, jam 
doctor in juris, hujus ipsius anni, cepit publico 
legere, quam plur. scholar, cum magna admira- 
tione et doctrina ; ut videretur portentum, ad 
incomparabilem honorificentiam Archigymnasii.^' 
The wretched Latin of which may be thus 
rendered: ^^ This day, Oct. 23, in the year of salva- 
tion 1236, the celebrated Lady Bethisia, daughter 
of Siguier Amatori dei Gozzadini, who had already 
this year been made doctor of laws, began pub- 
licly to read, to the great admiration and instruc- 
tion of many pupils ; so that she would seem a 
prodigy, to the incomparable honor of the chief 
school of learning.^' The historian of Italian 
literature does not hesitate to say, that some men 
call this whole calendar a " solemn imposture.'' 

The author of the " Record of Women '' adds 
to this the following particulars : '^ Bettisa Goz- 
zadini, born at Bologna in 1209, having prevailed 
upon her parents to gratify her love of learning, 
followed every course of study at the University, 



94 BOLOGNA AND ITS WOMEN. 

clad in man^s apparel ;^^ a somewhat unnecessary 
trouble, one would think, in a university which 
did not hesitate to confer degrees upon women. 
'^ She took the highest standing in her college, 
and received the laurel crown with her degree. 
She afterwards studied law; obtained the title 
of Doctor, and the privilege of wearing the robe. 
She lost her life in 1261, in consequence of the 
overflow of the Idio," The very minuteness 
of this record, where the most careful investiga- 
tion has found nothing but uncertainty, makes it 
suspicious. From the orthography of the proper 
names, we suspect that the author derived her 
material from early French sources ; which are, 
for the most part, unworthy of reliance. 

Among the names still honored at Bologna is 
that of Madonna Giovanna Buonsigniori. Lady 
Morgan calls her Maddalena; but this must be 
a mistake of her own or the printer's. In an 
ancient Italian chronicle published by Muratori, 
it is said, that when Charles V. entered Bologna, 
in 1354, with his empress, the latter " had with 
her, as a companion, a venerable Bolognese lady, 
skilled in letters, and acquainted with the Ger- 
man, Bohemian, and Tuscan tongues. She was 
called Madonna Giovanna, daughter of Matteo 



BOLOGNA AND ITS WOMEN. 95 

dei Bianchetti, of the street of San Donato; and 
was the widow of Messer Buonsignior dei Buon- 
signiori of Bologna, Doctor of Laws." We omit 
the old Italian from which we freely translate, 
because we do not wish to cumber our pages 
with what may be uninteresting to the general 
reader. It is elsewhere stated, that she had 
mastered Latin, Greek, and Polish, and was well 
versed in philosophical and legal science. Lady 
Morgan accords to her the honors of the cap and 
gown, on the personal authority, we suppose, of 
her friend Cai'd inal Mezzofanti. 

It will be observed, that all the women to 
whom tradition has attributed this honor have 
been the daughters or the wives of doctors 
of the law ; and it is but fair to suppose that 
their pubHc proficiency, in a study which most 
men call dry and technical, was the result of a 
natural and praiseworthy sympathy. Should we 
hereafter consider the lives of Italian women 
in general, we shall see how many of those 
distinguished in other States owed their enthu- 
siasm to the fa(3t of some recent ancestral relation 
to the University of Bologna. Such an one was 
Christina de Pizzano, resident at the court of 
France ; whose old and idiomatic French we are 



96 



BOLOGNA AND ITS WOMEN. 



compelled to quote, as the best existing evidence 
of the professorship of Novella d^ Andrea. 

It is entirely uncertain, we believe, whether 
this person ever lived ; or, if she lived, whether 
her name was not Bettina; whether her father 
had two daughters or one. But Tommaso da 
Pizzano was born at Bologna, and lived there in 
the time of Giovanni d'Andrea, — the celebrated 
lecturer, and father of Novella. Probably it was 
from his lips, therefore, that Christina received 
the story of the latter : so we may hope, that, 
with its touching beauty, it w^ears also the stamp 
of truth. The life oi Bettina d'Andrea — au- 
thenticated by the record of her marriage and 
funeral — closed in 1335. 

^^ Pareillement a parler de plus nouveaux 
temps, sans querre les anciennes histoires, Jean 
Andry, solemnel legiste a Boulogne La Grasse, 
n'amie soixante ans, n'estoit pas d^opinione que 
mal fust que femmes fussent lettr^es. Quand a 
sa belle et bonne fille qu^il tant ama, qui ot nom 
Nouvelle, fist aprendre lettres et si avant la 
Loixque quand il estoitoccupe d'aucune essoine, 
parquoy il ne pouvait vaquer a lire les lecons 
a ses escholieres, il envoyat Nouvelle sa fille 
lire en son lieu aux escholes en chaj^re. Et afin 
que la beaute d'icelle n'empechast la pens^e des 



BOLOGNA AND ITS WOMEN. 97 

oyans, elle avoit un petit courtine devant elle. 
Et par cette maniere suppleoit et allegoit au- 
cuDes fois les occupations de son pere, lequel 
Paima tant, que pour mettre le nom d'elle en me- 
moire fist un notable lecture d'un livre des Lois, 
qu^il nomma du nom de sa fille 'La Nouvelle.'^'*^ 

In this extract from " La Cite des Dames," 
there is a peculiar beauty in the picture of the 
young girl shading her soft Italian eyes with a 
veil, lest their '^ doctrine " should prove more 
bewitching than that of the canon law ; and 
of the father, proud and loving, who gave to 
what he believed would be an immortal thesis 
the name of his precious child. Upon this single 
passage is founded all that history or poetry 
have said or sung of Novella d'Andrea. The 
Novella who married John Caldesimus has been 
proved to be another person. 

* " So, — to speak of later times without inquiring into ancient 
history, — Jean Andry, a solemn law-teacher at Bologna not more 
than sixty years since, thought it did no harm for women to be 
lettered. As to his good and beautiful daughter, named Novella, 
whom he so much loved, he taught her letters and law, so that, 
when he was occupied with any care, he might send her to sit in 
his chair and teach his pupils ; and, that her beauty might not 
disturb their thoughts, a little curtain hung before her. And in this 
manner she many times supplied her father's place ; who loved her 
so much, that, to bequeathe her name to posterity, he gave a famous 
lecture from one of his treatises on law, which he called, after her, 
»The Novella.'" 

7 



98 BOLOGNA AND ITS WOMEN. 

We have said that Christina da Pizzano was 
born of Bolognese parents ; and as she was, we 
believe, the first woman who attempted to sup- 
port herself and her family by her pen, her 
life is of no common interest. It may well be 
attached to those of the Bolognese women 
whose accomplishments kindled her emulation 
and sustained her rivalry. 

Her father, Tommaso da Pizzano, was one 
of the most eminent men of his day. Having 
exhausted all the resources of learning and 
science, he applied himself to astrology. He 
was residing at Venice when Christina was 
born, in 1363. He was invited by Charles V. 
to the French court, where he went w^ith his 
daughter when she was about five years old. 

In intellectual ability, Christina w^as worthy 
of her father ; and, at the early age of fourteen, 
she was married to Stephen de Castel, a young 
noble of Picardy, who was secretary to the 
emperor. When Charles died, the prospects 
of the family were clouded ; and disappointment 
soon carried the husband and father of Christina 
to the grave. At the age of twenty, she found 
herself a widow, burdened with the support 
of three sons. 

A foreigner, she had no resources but those 



BOLOGNA AND ITS WOMEN. 99 

within her ; and, when the relations of her 
husband disputed her inheritance at the law, 
she devoted herself to study, with such zeal 
that few men of the time could equal her. 
She says of herself, " Ains me pris aux histoires 
anciennes des commencemens du monde, — les 
histoires des Ebrieux, des Assiriens, et de 
principes de signouries procedant de Pune en 
Pautre dessendant aux Romains, des Francois, 
des Britons, et autres plusieurs historiographes ; 
apres aux deductions de science selon ce que en 
Pespace du temps que y estudiai, on pos com- 
prendere. Puis me pris aux livres de poetes.''"^ 
She was a good Latin and Greek scholar, and 
began to write books in 1399. In 1405, she says 
that she had written fifteen large volumes. She 
complains that the publication of her poems 
gave rise to calumnies ; but she grew rapidly 
in the esteem of scholars. We have quoted 
her quaint old French, instead of translating it, 
because her works are either in manuscript, or 
not easily accessible to persons on this side of 
the Atlantic. 

* " So I lent myself to ancient history from the beginning of the 
world, — to the history of the Hebrews, the Assyrians, and the divided 
sovereignties proceeding from both until the time of the Romans, 
French, and Britons; and many other historiographers. . . . Then 
I applied myself to poetry." 



100 BOLOGNA AND ITS WOMEN. 

When the Count of Salisbury went to France 
on a mission connected with the marriage of 
Richard, he carried home with him Christina's 
only surviving son. Richard sent Christina a 
warm invitation to his court ; and, after the 
death of both Salisbury and the king, Henry of 
Lancaster not only continued to employ her son, 
but renewed the invitation to herself. She 
could not be persuaded, however, to quit the 
land where she had suffered so much ; and 
although she was still further urged, by the 
Duke of Milan, she remained in France under 
the protection of Philip, the good Duke of Bur- 
gundy. After his death, she recalled her son; 
and, about this time, we find an order awarding 
her the sum of two hundred lirae, in memory 
of services rendered by her father to Charles V. 
The attempt to claim this involved her again 
in lawsuits, and, as some authors have said, 
hastened her death ; but the time of this is 
wholly uncertain. 

She printed the "Life of Charles Y.'' in French. 
One of her manuscripts is in the " Biblioteca 
Estense." " Le tresor de La Cite des Dames '' 
was printed at Paris in 1497. The " Hundred 
Tales of Troy " went through two editions, and 
she left beside an immense number of manu- 



BOLOGNA AND ITS WOMEN. 101 

scripts. The time of her death is not certainly 
known. 

Next in order of time come the " Two Isotte ; '^ 
the ugliness of whose portraits on the walls 
of the University frightened the fascinating 
Lady Morgan out of all literary propriety, in 
1820. 

The first of these — Isotta da Rimini, the mis- 
tress and afterwards the wife of the celebrated 
Pandolpho Malatesta — need detain us but a 
few moments. She was learned, and the Laura 
of a knot of poets who wrote verses in her 
praise ; but if their praises of her learning bore 
no truer witness than their exaltation of her 
chastity, if the beauty they lauded can find no 
better defence than the portrait which has 
descended to posterity, we need trouble our- 
selves but little about either. 

Her contemporary, Isotta Nogarola, who was so 
unfortunate as to bear the same name, was born 
at Bologna ; but in what year is uncertain. . She 
was as remarkable for her chastity as for her wis- 
dom, well instructed in the sciences, and a ready 
versifier. When one of the Poscarini became 
Podesta of Verona in 1451, Isotta entertained the 
learned company around her with a discussion 



102 BOLOGNA AND ITS WOMEN. 

upon the comparative guilt of Adam and Eve. 
Her thesis, which proved Eve to have been the 
seduced rather than the seducer, was printed a 
century after her death. She never married. 
Lady Morgan says it was to show her contempt 
for that sex of which Adam was an example; but 
a masculine critic wickedly suggests, that the 
countenance which hangs in the library at 
Bologna could never have found many admirers. 
She died about 1466, — it is generally thought, 
at an early age ; and left a large number of 
manuscripts, chiefly orations and epistles, in 
Latin. 

It is after praising the eminence to which 
Isotta attained that Vasari introduces to us the 
name of Properzia dei Rossi, " a maiden of rich 
gifts, who, equally excellent with others in the 
disposition of all household matters, gained a 
point of distinction in many sciences, well cal- 
culated to arouse the envy, not of women merely, 
but of men." Alidosi calls her the daughter of 
Martino Rossi of Modena ; but, if she was not 
born in Bologna, it was there that she grew up, 
and there that she exercised her talents. 

Properzia was distinguished by remarkable 
beauty of person. She sang and played better 



BOLOGNA AND ITS WOMEN. 103 

than any woman of her time in Bologna; and, to 
satisfy an exuberant fancy, began her life as an 
artist by carving peach-stones. More fortunate 
than many children of more modern times, she 
found among her immediate friends warm and 
appreciating admirers. No one said, "A foolish 
fancy, that : she had better be taking care of 
the house.'' And when she finally completed, 
on this small surface, a sculptured Crucifixion, 
containing many heads besides those of the 
executioners and the apostles, no one added, 
^' It is but a womanish trick of art, after all.'' 
The true lovers of beauty, beside and around 
her, said, " See what better you can do." So 
encouraged, she executed numerous arabesques 
in stone, of flowers, animals, and so on, for the 
principal chapel of Santa Maria del Baracano. 

Just at this time, the superintendent of the 
Cathedral was authorized to ornament with 
marble figures ihQ three doors of the principal 
facade of San Petronio. For a portion of this 
work, Properzia now applied; and here occurs 
an inconsistency ^ in her biographer, which we 



* The " Englishwoman's Journal " for November, 1859, closes a 
sketch of Properzia in these words : — 

"Properzia's art career was permanently influenced by unto- 
ward circumstances. She loved profoundly a young nobleman. 



104 BOLOGNA AND ITS WOMEN. 

cannot explain by any authors within our reach. 
At the beginning of the Life, Vasari says ^^ she 
was a maiden of rich gifts : '^ he now says that 
she applied to the superintendent of this w^ork 
through ^^ her husband ; " and again, that she 
succeeded in a certain piece of sculpture all the 
better for a disappointment in love, all the more 
grievous to bear, because, with this exception, 
she was perfectly successful in all things. 



Anton Galeazza Malrasia; but her love was rejected^ despite her 
beauty, her fame as an artist, and many of those minor charms 
which link great virtues to each other. Perhaps the proud patrician 
disdained to own as his wife one who bore a less ancient name than 
his own. Certain it is that he failed to possess her on less honorable 
terms." 

I think it best to quote this account, written by the Patriot 
Mario, because very vile slanders are frequently attached to this 
lovely woman's name, and are repeated in the churches where her 
sculptures are shown. 

These slanders have originated in the word *' husband," once 
used by Vasari, and which must, I think, be a misprint, or a mis- 
take in his manuscript ; and in the fact, that, when dying, she 
sculptured her own portrait in her relievo of Potiphar's wife, a 
miracle of grace and beauty. This last thing a guilty woman 
would hardly have done. 

Mario does not allude to the possibility of her having been mar- 
ried. Nowhere are we told the name of her husband. Vasari dis- 
tinctly contradicts the implication by saying that she "died a 
maiden." It is just possible she had been in infancy conventionally 
betrothed : but the simple fact appears to be, that she loved and 
was beloved by a man greatly her superior in rank; that her eyes 
opened too late, when she found in what manner he sought her, and 
her woman's heart broke with a grief too heavy for the artist's 
pride. 



BOLOGNA AND ITS WOMEN. 105 

However she applied, she was commanded 
to produce a specimen of her work, as a proof 
that she was capable of w^hat she undertook; 
and, for this purpose, she executed from the life 
that admirable bust of Count Guido Pepoli, 
now preserved in the Church of San Petronio. 
Upon this, she was intrusted with the execution 
of two groups. She chose the wife of Pharaoh's 
steward and the Queen of Sheba for her subjects, 
and delighted the whole city by her eminent 
success. But there was one critic whom she 
could not please, — a certain Maestro Amico 
Aspertini, who is elsewhere described as having 
his head full of vapor and vain-glory; who never 
spoke well of any one, yet was always full of 
babble and gossip ; and who had so little true 
love of art, that, when he made any fortunate 
discovery, he immediately destroyed all traces 
of it, lest some other person should by chance 
derive some benefit from it. 

Properzia was a woman, and she did not care 
to struggle with this incarnation of the evil 
passions. Having finished several noble works 
already undertaken, she turned her attention 
to copperplate engraving, wherein she soon 
established an enviable reputation. The rumor 
of her lofty genius spread through Italy, and 



106 BOLOGNA AND ITS WOMEN. 

reached the ears of Clement VII. Having 
crowned Charles V. at Bologna in 1530, he 
sought out Properzia. She had died that very 
week, and been buried, at her owm request, in 
the Spedale delle Morte. 

Both Latin and Italian epitaphs were written 
in her honor ; but, as they have no peculiar in- 
terest, we do not copy them. On a peach-stone 
in the Florentine Cabinet, there is a ^^ Glory 
of the Saints," carved by Properzia, on which 
more than sixty heads may be counted. The 
stones in the possession of the Grassi Family 
are generally of simple workmanship ; but one 
of them contains twelve figures. Vasari had 
drawings executed by Properzia, which he de- 
scribes as admirable copies after Raphael, in 
" pen and ink." She was about thirty at the 
time of her death. 

Next in the succession of time, we hear of 
Lucia Bertana, who was considered by MafFei 
the third in eminence among the poets of her 
time. Tiraboschi, more to be relied on, mentions 
her as one among many. She was born at 
Bologna, of the family of Orto, and became the 
wife of Gurone Bertano. She was not only a 
graceful poet, but accomplished in music and 



BOLOGNA AND ITS WOMEN. 107 

painting, and possessed all the gentler virtues 
of her sex. It is a pleasant tribute to her 
womanly tact, that she was chosen to appease 
the literary quarrel of Caro and Castelvetro. 
Though she conducted the matter with the 
utmost delicacy and good sense, she was not 
successful. 

Ludovico Domenichi not only dedicated to 
her some of his works, but left a beautiful 
eulogy upon her. She died at Rome in 1567. 
Her husband honored her memory by a splen- 
did monument in the Church of Santa Sabina. 
Learned societies struck medals in her honor. 
She left one son, Giulio, who inherited her love 
of verse, and some of whose rhymed fancies 
have been, oddly enough, preserved in manu- 
script, on the blank leaves of a copy of Sanaz- 
zaro^s ^^ Arcadia,'^ still in the library of the Count 
Fantuzzi. 

In pleasant harmony with the sculptress and 
the poet of the sixteenth century is the sweet 
memory of that painter of the seventeenth, 
Elisabetta Sirani. She was born in Bologna in 
1638 ; and her father was Gian Andrea Sirani, 
the favorite pupil of that great master with 
whom her name and genius were always as- 



108 BOLOGNA AND ITS WOMEN. 

sociated, as well in life as in death. Greatly- 
gifted by nature, her talents came very near 
lacking all cultivation, simply because she was 
a girl. But her father had a friend who was 
wiser than himself; and, as he had no sons, 
he was at last induced to offer her every advan- 
tage. 

She engraved extremely well, modelled in 
plaster, and, before her eighteenth year, exe- 
cuted historical pictures, which still hold a 
high place in art. She played and sung with 
uncommon grace ; and, best of all, was gifted 
with that plain good sense which so seldom 
accompanies what is called artistic genius in 
either men or women. To her invalid father 
she gave all that she received for her pic- 
tures ; and, her mother having become para- 
lytic, she supplied her place to her younger 
sisters, and was faithful to all the details of 
domestic duty. 

That she possessed the rare talent of an im- 
provvisatrice in art, is evident from the fact, that, 
when a committee of the Church of the Certo- 
sini called upon her for a companion picture, 
she seized a paper, and sketched before their 
astonished eyes, and when only twenty years 
of age, the outline of that ^^ Baptism of Jesus '' 



BOLOGNA AND ITS WOMEN. 109 

which she afterwards executed. Few artists 
in the world have ever done, in their ripest 
manhood, a more remarkable thing. 

Foreign courts desired to patronize her ; and 
one of her paintings had been ordered by the 
empress, widow of Ferdinand III., when her death 
took place at the early age of twenty-seven, and 
so suddenly, that it was attributed, though with- 
out proof, to poison. She was buried in the 
Dominican church at Bologna, in the same tomb 
with Guide Reni. 

In the Palazzo Lambeccari de San Paolo, at 
Bologna, are *two of her paintings, — a " Holy 
Family '' and a " Magdalen." Her success in 
art gave a great impulse to female genius on 
the continent. 

The name of Laura Bassi Veratti is probably 
better known than most of those which we have 
presented to our readers. It would be still 
better known, and more brilliantly famous, were 
the women of the present day as well versed in 
Latin as Laura's contemporaries. She was born 
at Bologna in 1711. 

Early appreciated by her father's friends 
Stregani and Tacconi, they led her to the study 
of Latin, French, logic, metaphysics, and natural 



110 BOLOGNA AND ITS WOMEN. 

philosophy. What had satisfied her masters was 
the ordinary teaching of the schools ; but Laura 
soon began to think and " discover " for herself. 
To gratify them, and with much pain to her- 
self, she prepared, on the 17th of April, 1732, for 
a public dispute on philosophy. It took place 
at the Palace Anziani ; and the elegance and 
delicacy of her Latin speech were as remarkable 
as the extent of her acquirements. 

Applause and admiration followed her efibrts ; 
and Cardinal Lambertini urged her to contend 
for the doctor^s degree, which could alone esta- 
blish her position. On the 12th of May, attended 
by many ladies of distinguished rank, she passed 
her examination. Bazzani crowned her with a 
silver wreath of laurels in the name of the faculty, 
and addressed her in a Latin oration when he 
invested her with the gown, to which she made 
an elegant extemporaneous reply. At the din- 
ner which followed, even the subtlety of the 
Cardinal Polignac was distanced by her ready 
wit. She received the highest honors ; and 
the Senate settled a pension upon her, to en- 
able her to pursue her studies without inter- 
ruption. 

She mingled in the most distinguished so- 
ciety ; and Dr. Veratti, a professor of the 



BOLOGNA AND ITS WOMEN. Ill 

University and a celebrated physican, became 
attached to and married her. As his wife, she 
became as remarkable for domestic virtues as 
she had hitherto been for her scholarship. She 
carefully educated a numerous family. Not 
merely a tender wife, but also an excellent 
manager, her frugality, united to a generous 
hospitality, excited universal admiration. 

Nor did these lesser cares disturb the serenity 
of the far-reaching gaze which she turned towards 
the realms of mind and nature. For twenty-eight 
years, she carried on in her own house a course 
of experimental philosophy, until the Senate of 
the University invited her to become their pub- 
lic lecturer. 

Her memory was very great, her understanding 
strong, and her conversation sparkling with wit. 
The portraits of Laura show us a spirited head, 
with a profile slightly retrousse, indicating a 
French vivacity. She died in 1778, of a disease 
of the lungs. She was buried in her doctor^s 
gown, crowned with her silver laurel. She left 
behind her some manuscript poems and some 
Latin treatises. 

The following inscription on her monument 
shows the generous love of her Bolognese 
sisters : — 



112 BOLOGNA AND ITS WOMEN, 



Laur.e Bassje Veratt^ 

Physicae in hoc institute, 

Philosophise imiversae in gymnasio, 

Magistrae ; 

Quod priscas urbi feminas 

Doctrina illustres, 

Feliciter semulata, 

Veterem sui sexus gloriam apud nos 

Kenovavit ac plurimum erexit, 

Matronse Bononiae, sere conlato. 

Vixit 66 annos. Obiit 1778. 



Which may be freely translated thus : ^' The 
matrons of Bologna, by united contributions, 
erect this monument to Laura Bassi Veratti, 
teacher of natural philosophy in this Institute, 
and of all philosophy in the University ; for, by 
a happy emulation of the honored and learned 
women that this city once produced, she kindled 
afresh the former glory of her sex among us. 
She died in 1778, aged sixty-six years.'' 

It was a beautiful feature of Laura's life, that, 
though she received the doctorate in her early 
years, it was while the wife's and mother's 
duties were being faithfully performed, that a 
sincere love of study led her to pursue, for 
twenty-eight years, her private experiments. 
After this faithful preparation, women might 
look on contented when the Senate of the Uni- 
versity invited her to become ^. public lecturer. 



BOLOGXxV AND ITS WOMEN. 113 

Contemporary with Laura Bassi, and quite 
as worthy of the grateful remembrance of the 
world, was Donna Morandi, by marriage Manzol- 
lini, who was born at Bologna in 1716. She 
was a professor of anatomy, and one whom Italy 
honors as the inventor and perfecter of anatomi- 
cal preparations in wax. We ought, perhaps, to 
state here, that we have examined the merits of 
Gigoli Tumnio and Lelli, to whom this invention 
is usually attributed, without finding any thing 
to conflict with her claim. The honor is divided 
between herself and a French lady. Mademoiselle 
Biheron ; and, as the invention was one of the 
greatest importance to medical science, the fact 
that it was due to two women should always be 
borne in mind. 

English biographical dictionaries assert that 
Morandi's husband, who was a wax-modeller, 
also excelled in anatomical preparations. But, 
if so, they must have been of quite a different 
kind from those afterwards perfected b}^ his 
wife. French medical authorities are explicit 
on this point. They say, that being a student 
of medicine, and regretting the rapidity with 
which the processes of nature deprived her of 
her specimens, she readily perceived that the 
material in which her husband worked might 
be used to the advantage of anatomy. 



114 BOLOGNA AND ITS WOMEN. 

Her first attempts were so excellent, that 
they challenged the admiration of the college. 
She was employed to make specimens for the 
Institute, and her success raised her to the chair 
of anatomy in 1758. 

No modern student can fitly estimate the 
boon thus conferred on medical science, who has 
not taken the pains to read the medical works 
of the era. At this very moment, a celebrated 
Scotch physician, Dr. William Smellie, — who 
had educated more than a thousand pupils, 
and whose works on obstetrics were thought 
worthy of being translated into several living 
languages, — was lecturing at London from 
a manikin, the secret of whose construction 
provoked a smile. What modern student could 
resist the ludicrous emotion excited by a wooden 
woman, with an abdomen of leather, in which 
a vessel of beer, a cork stopper, and a bit of 
pack-thread, imitated the impulses of nature ? 

But here, again, the genius of woman came 
to the aid of science. An admirable manikin, 
invented and perfected by Madame Ducoudray, 
received the approbation of the Academy of 
Surgeons, in the very year in which Morandi 
was elected to the chair at Bologna ; and Eliza- 
beth Nihell, who had been born at London in 



BOLOGNA AND ITS WOMEN. 115 

1723, had the courage pubhcly to expose the 
absurdities of the popular master of a thousand 
pupils, and to introduce the French manikin. 

The elevation of Morandi to the anatomical 
chair in a university which was still, in 1820, the 
most thorough in the world in its preparation 
of medical students, was a significant token of 
the appreciation, by the faculty, of woman's 
relation to the science. Biheron's preparations 
were purchased by Catharine of Russia, and 
Morandi's received an admiring appreciation 
from Joseph II. 

She died in 1774. Her preparations, since 
surpassed, are preserved in the collection at 
Bologna. 

Clotilda Tambroni, the professor of Greek at 
Bologna, links these celebrated women to our 
own century. She was born in 1758, and was 
the sister of the celebrated poet and historian, 
Joseph Tambroni. 

Devoted to her needle, she listened to the 
Greek lessons given by the Hellenist Aponte to 
his pupils. An accident revealing to him her 
wonderful powers, he persuaded her mother to 
give her a liberal education. To a familiarity 
with elegant literature she added an acquaint- 



116 BOLOGNA AND ITS WOMEN. 

ance with Latin and mathematics ; but she 
chiefly excelled in Greek. While yet a girl, 
she was appointed to the Greek chair in the 
Junior Department of the University of Bologna. 
She was admitted to the Arcadian Academy at 
Rome, the Etruscan at Cortona, and the Clemen- 
tini at Bologna. 

After an absence of a year in Spain, whither 
her family had gone for political reasons, her 
countrymen received her, in 1794, wath the 
highest honors ; and the government of Milan 
immediately conferred upon her the Greek chair 
at Bologna. She was displaced in 1798 because 
she refused to take the oath of hatred to royalty, 
required by the Cispadane Republic. Bonaparte, 
with his usual appreciation, nobly restored her ; 
and she retained her chair, save when it was 
pohtically suppressed, till her death in 1817. 
During her last years, it was shared by the cele- 
brated Cardinal Mezzofanti ; and Lady Morgan, 
who visited Bologna just after her death, says, 
^at was a pleasant thing to hear her learned 
co-adjutor, in describing to us the good qualities 
of her heart, do ample justice to the learning 
which had raised her to the same rank as 
himself, without one illiberal innuendo at that 
erudition, which in England is a greater female 
stigma than vice itsel/y 



BOLOGNA AND ITS WOMEN. 117 

Upon Clotilda's monument at Bologna it is 
written, that she was ^^ crowned with modesty 
and every virtue." Her works are chiefly Greek 
poems and a Latin oration. 

In the Gallery at Bologna, in 1820, a young 
artist, Carlotta Gargalli, seemed fast following 
in the graceful footsteps of the gifted Elisabetta 
Sirani ; but since that time we have heard 
nothing of her. Perhaps she died early. In the 
same year, the Countess Sampieri and Madame 
Martinetti presided over literary circles, which 
gave something of the old lustre to Bolognese 
society; and we have no reason to doubt that 
they have found worthy successors. 



Whoever writes in the present day can hardly 
remain neutral with regard to the responsibleness 
of women toward women. Upon this subject let 
us say, in closing, a few words. Let every 
conscientious woman beware, lest an unlucky 
witticism, a smart saying, or a careless slur, 
injure for ever a reputation of which she 
knows nothing with certainty. Public opinion 
is a mingled stream, flowing from a thousand 
nameless sources. 



118 BOLOGNA AND ITS WOMEN. 

An example will show how really liberal and 
right-thinking women may swell the current 
of popular prejudice. 

Lady Morgan, whose merits no one can ap- 
preciate more highly than ourselves, since she 
has always preserved, through the remarkable 
honors and distinctions to which genius has 
raised her, her unaffected, sprightly, democratic 
air : Lady Morgan, whose books are so crowded 
with incident and literary gossip, that we forgive 
the awkward air with which recent acquisitions 
seem to sit upon her, — says above, ^^ that erudi- 
tion is in England, in 1820,a greater female stigma 
than vice itself.'' Yet in the same chapter, 
in speaking of the Institute at Bologna, she says, 
" The anteroom of the Library has an interest of 
its own, from being covered with the portraits 
of the learned ; among which, strange to say, the 
ladies hold a distinguished place. At the head, 
as ^ chef de brigade,^ stares Isotta da Rimini. 
' Le due Isotte,' as they are called, and Madame 
Dacier, compose a group that can never be mis- 
taken for that of the Graces. They are indeed 
fearful examples^ to convince the most indigo-blue 
stockings, that the waters of the Pierian springs 
are not among the most efficacious cosmetics.^^ 

Does this prove that a bold courtesan stands 



BOLOGNA AND ITS WOMEN. 119 

at the head of literary women in Italy, or that 
learned women are never beautiful? Yet how 
strongly it implies something of the sort ! 

In a note, she says Cassandra Fedele was far 
too ^^ pretty for a pedant ; " and, farther on, that, 
" in woman, genius and abstrus6 learning never 
yet went together.'^ She reckoned without her 
host ; though it is perfectly true, that in herself 
genius has supplied the want of abstruse learning. 

Trivial as such remarks may seem, every one 
who adds without cause to the number does 
something to lower the popular estimate of 
women. It was because of the almost infinite 
power of light words that our Saviour said, 
" Let your conversation be as Yea, yea." 

Let every true-hearted woman speed all other 
women striving for honorable distinction; and so, 
in good time, shall come a happy emancipation. 

Our sketches of Bolognese women may bring 
some of our readers to reflect as to what natural 
connection there is between the presence of a 
large number of literary women within its walls, 
and the prosperity and mental independence of 
Bologna la Grasse. The city was always a fa- 
vorite with Bonaparte ; and, through all changes, 
has stamped the charmed word Lihertds upon its 
coin. The liberties of which the people are 



120 BOLOGNA AND ITS WOMEN. 

deprived de jure are less violently invaded 
de facto. The only tax which the Pope can 
require of Bologna is a duty upon wine ; and it 
continues to be celebrated for its University, for 
the elegance of its literati, and, despite that sad 
" Pierian spring/^ for the loveliness of its women. 
It is worthy of remark, that its social circles have 
unusual attractions, from the fact that young 
unmarried persons there enter into society with 
their parents ; which, in 1830, was not the case 
in any other city in Italy. 



MARIA GAETANA AGNESI. 



" No doubt, we seem a kind of monster to you : 

We are used to that." 

Tennyso>''s Princess. 



npHE renown of this remarkable woman be- 
-^ longs to Bologna ; but, as she was born in 
Milan, it seems proper to consider her apart 
from the throng of women whose names are the 
still green laurels of that old city. 

Maria Gaetana Agnesi was born at Milan on 
the 16th of March, 1718. She appears to have 
been one of a large family, and the oldest 
daughter of Don Pedro di Agnesi, who was 
professor of mathematics in the University of 
Bologna. 

In her ninth year, she spoke the Latin language 
perfectly; a circumstance established not merely 
by the gossip of the time, but by the fact that she 
delivered an oration, maintaining that the study 
of this language was advantageous to women, 
printed at Milan in 1727. In her eleventh year. 



122 MARIA GAETANA AGNESI. 

she spoke Greek as fluently as Italian, and 
proceeded to devote herself to the Hebrew, 
French, German, and Spanish tongues, until she 
was familiarly termed ^^ the walking polyglot.'^ 
She finally devoted herself to geometry and 
speculative philosophy. Her father fostered her 
love of learning by assembling at his house the 
most distinguished persons of the time, before 
whom she proposed and defended philosophical 
theses. It was at this time she was seen by the 
President De Brosses, who gives, in his letters 
on Italy, the most minute account of her which 
remains to us. 

Monsieur De Brosses was the President of the 
Parliament of Dijon, and a member of the Royal 
Academy of Belles Lettres at Paris. He went 
into Italy in 1740, when Maria Agnesi was 
twenty-two years of age. At a conversazione to 
which he was invited, he found about thirty 
persons, from different parts of Europe, sitting 
in a circle. La Signorina and her little sister 
were seated under a canopy. She was hardly 
handsome, but had a fine complexion, with an 
air of great simplicity, softness, and feminine 
delicacy. The sister here alluded to was Maria 
Teresa Agnesi, somewhat younger than Gaetana, 
who was afterward considered a musician of 



MARIA GAETANA AGNESI. 123 

much genius, and who composed, beside several 
cantatas, three operas, — "Sophonisba,'^^^Ciro in 
Armenia,'' and ^' Nitocri,'' — which she dedicated 
to the Empress of Germany. 

" I had imagined," says Monsieur De Brosses, " when I 
went to this party, that it was only to converse with this 
lady in the usual way, although on abstruse subjects ; but 
Count Belloni, who introduced me, addressed the lady in 
Latin, as formally as if he were declaiming at college. She 
answered him with readiness and ability ; and they then 
began to discuss, still in Latin, the origin of fountains, and 
the causes of that tide-like ebb and flow which has been 
observed in some of them. She spoke like an angel, and I 
never heard the subject better treated. 

" Count Belloni then desired me to take his place, and 
converse with her on any subject connected with mathematics 
or natural philosophy. The proposal alarmed me; for, in 
the course of years, my Latin had grown somewhat rusty. 
However, I made all needful excuses ; and we entered, first, 
into an inquiry concerning the manner in which the soul re- 
ceives impressions from material objects, and in which they 
are communicated through the senses to the brain, which 
is the common sensorium ; and afterward into another, con- 
cerning the propagation of light, and the prismatic colors. 

" Loppin then discoursed with her on transparent bodies 
and curvilinear figures ; of which last subject I did not 
understand a word. Loppin spoke in French ; but the lady 
begged permission to answer him in Latin, saying that it 
would be difficult for her to recall the technical names she 
should have occasion to make use of, in the French tongue. 

" She spoke wonderfully well on all these subjects, 
although it was impossible she should have been specially 



124 MARIA GAETANA AGNESI. 

prepared. She is much attached to Newton's philosophy, 
and it is marvellous to find her so familiar with these 
abstruse matters. However much I may have been sur- 
prised at the extent and depth of her knowledge, I was still 
more amazed at her Latin. She spoke with such purity and 
ease, that I cannot recollect any modern book written in so 
classical a style. 

"After she had replied to Loppin, the conversation 
became general, — every one speaking to her in his own 
tongue, and she answering in the same ; for her knowledge 
of languages is prodigious. She told me she was sorry that 
the conversation at this visit had taken the formal turn 
of an academical disquisition ; declaring that she very much 
disliked speaking on such subjects in large companies, — 
where, for one who was entertained, there would be twenty 
tired to death, — and that such subjects should only be 
spoken of between two or three who had similar tastes. 
This showed the same good sense that had appeared in her 
discourses. I was sorry to hear that she had determined to 
take the veil, not from want of fortune, — for she is rich, — 
but from a religious tone of mind. 

" After the conversation was over, her little sister played 
on the harpsichord, with the skill of a Rameau, not only 
some of Rameau's pieces, but also some of her own compo- 
sition ; accompanying the instrument with her voice." 

About this time, Maria Agnesi grew weary 
of these public discussions. At the age of nine- 
teen, in 1738, she had published her " Proposi- 
tiones PhilosophicaB,^' in which she defended 
one hundred and ninety-one theses. She now 
wrote a treatise on conic sections; and, in 1748, 
published her celebrated work, '^ Instituzioni 



MARIA GAETANA AGNESI. 125 

Analitiche ad uso della Gioventu Italiana.'^ The 
first volume contains the elements of algebra, 
with the application of algebra to geometrj^ : 
the second contains an excellent treatise on the 
differential and integral calculus. This book is 
considered the best introduction to Euler. 

In 1750, her father became ill, and she received 
permission from Benedict XIV. to fill his pro- 
fessor's chair. This she did for several years, 
probably until his death ; for it appears to have 
been only his affectionate entreaties that pre- 
vailed over her earnest wish to enter a convent. 
M. De Brosses alludes to this wish in 1740; but 
it was some years later than 1750 (when she was 
called to the mathematical chair in the University 
of Bologna) that she joined the austere order of 
the Blue Nuns. She died at Milan, Jan. 9, 1799, 
at the age of eighty-one. 

The reputation of Maria Agnesi rests upon her 
" Analytical Institutes ; '' which were published, 
as we have seen, in Italian, in 1748. Whoever 
suspects her of superficiality had better turn to 
its pages. One glance would be enough to give 
many a modern lady the headache ; but there is 
a touching simplicity and beauty in her preface 
and dedication, which we think even a '' large 
company," to use her own considerate words, 
would be able to appreciate. 



126 MARIA GAETANA AGNESI. 

The study of this branch of mathematics, 
she says, needs no encomiums of hers ; and she 
excuses herself for writing upon it by saying 
that it is almost impossible to obtain thorough 
instruction in Italy, and all persons are not rich 
enough to travel abroad in search of masters. 
But for Ramiro Rampinelli, professor of mathe- 
matics at Pavia, she thinks she should have 
been herself unable to master the subject. She 
adds, that many important steps in science re- 
quire this new digest ; and goes on to say, — 

" Late discoveries have obliged me to follow a new ar- 
rangement of the several parts ; and whoever has attempted 
any thing of this kind must be convinced how difficult it is 
to hit upon such a method as shall have a sufficient degree 
of perspicuity and simplicity, — omitting every thing super- 
fluous, yet retaining all that is useful and necessary ; such, 
in short, as shall proceed in that natural order in which is 
found the closest connection, the strongest conviction, and 
the easiest instruction. This order I have always had in 
view; but whether I have been so happy as to attain it, 
must be left to the judgment of the reader." 

She proceeds to say, that it has never been 
her intention to court applause ; for she is quite 
satisfied with having indulged herself in a real 
and " innocent pleasure." We modern women 
may look back upon her " innocent pleasure," 
from our embroidery-frames and crochet-needles. 



MARIA GAETANA AGNESI. 127 

with very much the same feeling that modern 
men contemplate the combats of the Titans or 
the labors of Hercules. She shows her conscien- 
tiousness by thanking a friend, Count Riccati, 
for a new speculation to be found in her second 
volume. 

In that day, it was so customary to write a 
scientific work in the Latin tongue, that she 
seems to think some excuse necessary for her 
not doing it. Her first intention was to prepare 
the work for the instruction of one of her 
younger brothers ; and, when she determined 
to publish it, she felt a natural disinclination to 
translate it into Latin, which she confesses would 
have been a mere ^^ drudgery.'' She desires, 
then, to lay no claim to elegance of style, but 
will feel fully satisfied if she has expressed 
herself in a plain but lucid manner. 

The work is dedicated to the Empress Maria 
Theresa, in language of elegant but dignified 
compliment, in pleasant contrast to the unworthy 
adulation so common to the period. She has 
gained courage to ofifer it, because the empress 
is, like herself, a woman ; and because women 
should especially strive to render illustrious the 
reign of a woman ; and this is the very best that 
she can do. " And if the volume of music," she 



128 MARIA GAETANA AGNESI. 

continues, ^' which my sister has had the honor of 
presenting to your majesty, has been so fortunate 
as to stir your voice to melody, let this be so 
happy as to stimulate your sagacity and pene- 
tration/' 

Montucla, in his French " History of Mathe- 
matics/' had spoken in the highest terms of 
Agnesi and of her book, urging some French 
lady to translate it. Subsequently to this, in 
1775, it was translated by D'Antelmey, with 
additions by Bossut, and published at Paris. 

A note to a Spanish work, "El Teatro Critico/' 
published in 1774, contains some facts with re- 
gard to her ; but, as we know some of the 
statements to be false, we do not quote the 
others. A eulogy was written, after her death, 
by Frisi, and translated into French by Boulard ; 
but it does not appear to be accessible. 

Maria's book was not only written; it was used: 
and the high value attributed to it by the teach- 
ers of the Continent attracted the attention of the 
Rev. John Colson, Lucasian Professor of Mathe- 
matics in Cambridge University. That he was 
well qualified to judge of its merits, Ave must 
infer from the fact that he had translated the 
" Fluxions " of Sir Isaac Newton, and accompanied 
them by a commentary in 1736. His enthusiasm 



MARIA GAETANA AGXESI. 129 

was SO stimulated by the remarks of Continental 
professors, and by the reading of the second 
volume (already translated into the Trench), 
that, at an advanced age, he began to study 
Italian, solely for the purpose of translating the 
^^Institutes'' into English. Probably no woman's 
work ever received a higher compliment than 
this. Mrs. Somerville might have studied French 
in order to translate La Place, and we should 
have felt that the occurrence was only natural 
and proper ; but that a mathematical professor, 
in one of the largest and oldest universities in 
the world, should have studied Italian in order 
to translate a work written by a woman, and 
that at an advanced age, is a fact in which we 
have a right to take some pleasant pride. 

Maria Agnesi had sent a copy of her work to 
the Royal Society. Mr. Colson, as a member of 
that society especially interested in mathematics, 
thought it would be only polite to acknowledge 
the gift by drawing up a paper, to be read 
before the president, giving some account of the 
work. But, the more he examined it, the more 
convinced he felt that such a work deserved to 
be translated into English ; and, however unequal 
to the task, he determined to undertake it. 

He undertook it, he says, chiefly to stimulate 

9 



130 MARIA GAETANA AGNESI. 

the ambition of English ladies not to be outdone 
hy any foreign ladies ivliatever. What one woman 
could write, surely other women ought to be 
able to read and understand. They take infinite 
pains, he tells them, to be expert at whist or 
quadrille : the same care would make the read- 
ing of this book a mere game ; and the study of 
analytics would give them great advantages in 
all games of chance, so that they could not be 
imposed upon by sharpers. Then, suddenly 
recollecting that this view of the case was a 
little beneath his professional gown, he con- 
tinues, — 

" But that improvement of their minds and understand- 
ings, which would naturally arise from this study, is of much 
greater importance. They will be inured to think clearly, 
closely, and justly; to reason and argue consequentially; 
to investigate and pursue truths which are certain and 
demonstrative ; and to strengthen and improve their rational 
faculties." 

For having desired this, he has a claim upon 
our thanks. It is not a little singular, that, by 
all competent judges, Maria is praised for the 
unusual perspicuity with which she has treated 
her subject. 

Having translated this book, Mr. Colson under- 
took to have it published by subscription, and 



MARIA GAETANA AGNESI. 131 

prepared a simple abstract which should induce 
ladies to examine it. But the latter undertaking 
he never finished. He died before it was fully 
completed; passing into those regions of infinite 
light and power, for which no sublimer prepara- 
tion could be found than the pursuit of his 
favorite studies. His manuscript lay unpub- 
lished for many years, and was finally given to 
the world by the generous liberality of a brother 
mathematician, Baron Maseres, under the revision 
of the Rev. John Hellins of Potter's Bury, in the 
year 1801. 

Maseres was a descendant of the French 
refugees, a sound lawyer, an excellent mathe- 
matician, and a fellow of Cambridge University. 
He was born in the year 1731 ; and, after en- 
tering the bar, received the appointment of 
Attorney-General of Quebec. On his return to 
England, he made himself remarkable by his 
liberal encouragement of mathematical learning, 
and the publication, in 1759, of a treatise denying 
the existence of negative quantities. He was 
raised to the dignity of Cursitor Baron of the 
Exchequer ; and it was in no moment of youth- 
ful or gallant enthusiasm, that he ofiered to 
bear the whole expense of printing Mr. Colson's 
manuscript. He must have been, at the time of 



132 MARIA GAETANA AGNEST. 

its piiblicatioi], nearly seventy years old. He died 
at Eeigate in 1824^ at the age of ninety-three. 

It will be seen from the above sketch, that 
we know very little of Maria Agnesi ; yet, from 
these few facts, we can draw many fair inferences 
with regard to her character. 

We are forcibly struck, in the first place, with 
the pride which the Italians feel in their learned 
women. In England and America, women are not 
only obliged to excuse themselves for possess- 
ing any unusual amount of learning; but their 
friendsj in turn, must apologize for the love they 
bear such women. ^^ Yes,'^ you will hear them 
saying, ^^ we love her in spite of her learning. 
You cannot guess how lovely she is in her 
family, how kind she is to the poor, in spite of 
all her acquirements.^' In spite of! and so the 
woman who can read the second volume of the 
'' Institutes'' hides her head, and asks for no svm- 
pathy in her ^^ innocent pleasure." In Bologna, 
we hear nothing of all that. Fathers, brothers, 
and lovers do their utmost to encourage and 
sustain the love of learning in women ; and, at 
the present day, people of the middle class will 
tell you pleasant traditions of Bassi, Baltiferri, 
and Agnesi. 



MARIA GAETANA AGNESI. 133 

Maria possessed true dignity and modesty. 
Her learning was a sound and solid thing, that 
she was not obliged to batter thin, and spread 
over a wide surface. It could stand wear, bear 
questioning, and shine all the more for the 
friction of a discussion. She felt so secure in 
the possession of it, that she had no hesitation 
in telling her French friend, that technical terms 
were more familiar to her in Latin than French ; 
and the weight of it did not prevent her from 
feeling, with feminine tact and sensitiveness, that 
the subjects of which she had been speaking 
could not interest all her audience. She was 
affectionate and gentle, rather than ambitious 
or wilful ; for, although she had felt herself to 
be called by God in her earliest childhood, she 
did not press this call against her father's wish, 
while she proved her sincerity by obeying it 
as soon as his inflaence was withdrawn, greatly 
to the regret of the University and the learned 
circles of the time. She was free from envy 
or meanness of any kind ; for she introduced 
the striking and more generally attractive gifts 
of her young sister to her own circle of friends, 
and did not fail to remind the empress herself 
of Teresa's gifts. It was not for her sister 
alone that she felt this motherly care : it was, 



134 MARIA GAETANA AGNESI. 

she tells ns, for a young hrother^s sake that she 
first wrote her " Institutes ; ^' till, feeling, doubt- 
less, the strength of her power as she proceeded, 
she was encouraged to give them to the public. 
It may strike some readers disagreeably, that 
she is represented as " sitting beneath a canop5^'' 
Until quite a late period, it was the custom for 
Italian women, who were the heads of families, 
to receive visitors in that way; and they are 
frequently represented so in pictures. The 
custom may have originated in other causes 
than the desire to keep up the idea of rank : 
like the curtains of a bed, the drapery first used 
may have been a protection against draughts. 
It varied in arrangement before it went out of 
fashion. That Maria Agnesi received her friends 
in this way, suggests to us that she had grow^n 
up motherless ; and that she associated her 
young sister with her, in doing the honors of 
her father's house, shows a delicate and modest 
feeling of her public position. 



VII. 

THE POSITION OF WOMEN WITH REGARD 
TO MEDICAL SCIENCE. 



" With stammering lips and insufficient sound, 
I strive and struggle to deliver right 
That music of my nature." 

E. B. Browning. 



npHE interest which is at this moment felt in 
-■- every thing relating to the intellectual de- 
velopment of woman, and the questions which 
all thinking men are asking of themselves as to 
her present position in society, make the most 
insignificant facts of her past history valuable. 
We cannot regard the position of woman in 
medical science as a matter of secondary im- 
portance, or in any respect unworthy the 
most serious consideration of all who are inte- 
rested in the future growth of society. It is 
true that woman entered this arena through 
a breach in its wall; for had not the oppor- 
tunity presented itself for the uneducated wo- 
man to sustain, perchance assist. Nature in the 
most natural office of midwife, we should hardly 



136 THE POSITION OF WOMEN 

have seen any petitioning for opportunities of 
culture as early as the time of Agnodike. Once 
there, she not only defended her own right with 
so much pertinacity and success that she has re- 
tained a certain sort of place in it until the pre- 
sent day, but she most vigorously assaulted and 
defeated many of the false pretenders of the 
other sex, who, as she had quickness enough to 
see, knew no better, and meant far worse, than 
herself 

The information which this article contains 
has been procured from many sources. A part 
of it depends upon a '^ History of Celebrated 
Midwives,'^ published at Paris, w^ithin twenty 
years, by A. Delacoux. Knowing little of Mons. 
Delacoux's reputation, we have preferred that 
many of his statements should await confirmation 
from other reliable sources ; and, as he seemed 
in some instances to espouse the cause of the sex 
with the somewhat unhealthy zeal of a partisan, 
w^e have tested his conclusions and assumptions 
by every means within our power. If these 
should have been greater or more satisfactory, 
let the owners of medical hbraries closed to wo- 
men, and the votaries of science who debar her 
its pursuit, take the responsibility. 

That midwifery was originally in the hands of 



WITH REGARD TO MEDICAL SCIENCE. 137 

women alone^ is a fact so apparent, that, even if 
history were silent on the subject, no one could 
deny it. Before the progress of civilization had 
complicated the diseases and distorted the forms 
of women, children were born into the world as 
simply as their suffering mothers drew their 
breath, relying on natural law rather than artifi- 
cial aid. For the indispensable services of the 
hour, the nearest female relative or friend, or, 
among the poor and lonel}^, the nearest neighbor, 
w^ould naturally be called in. While the agricul- 
tural interest Avas paramount, and the population 
of any country was thinly scattered, cases of 
great difficulty would be rare ; and, as will easily 
be seen, a class of elderly persons, accustomed to 
such duties, would necessarily exist. But, as the 
population became more dense, the shock of 
interests would rupture the ties of kindred, affec- 
tion, and neighborhood ; and out of the above 
class might be drawn a number of persons, who 
would give their services to strangers, not only 
for the love of God and humanity, but for money. 
With the growth of cities would come a greater 
proportion of difficult cases ; and these, treated 
repeatedly by the same person, would offer an 
experience whereon to base a science. 

It was in this way, and by a sacred fidelity to 



138 THE POSITION OF WOMEN 

their painful duties, that the midwives of the 
early ages acquired a decisive position and in- 
fluence. Not only the Sacred Scriptures, but 
all profane and classic authorities, Plato and 
Aristotle, Plautus and Terence, attest the fact, 
that this practice was anciently confined to their 
hands. The obstetrical theory of Hippocrates 
may be thought to be an argument upon the 
other side ; but its impracticability and its very 
hazardous nature strongly sustain our statement, 
and go to prove that it was never founded 
on experience. In Egypt and Arabia, in Chaldea 
and Greece, in Persia and Rome, w^oman mini- 
stered to w^oman. Greece was the first country 
that developed any thing like a medical science 
or a medical school, and with this development 
unfolded also a spirit of exclusion and caste. 

At some era not precisely ascertainable, the 
Areopagus, in prophetic intimation of what might 
be done by a modern Athens, passed a statute for- 
bidding " women and slaves'' to practise the art ; 
but the women of Athens were heroic, and they 
preferred death to an innovation which they did 
not approve. Agnodike, the young daughter of 
Hierophilus, pitied their terror and dismay. She 
devoted herself to their interests ; and, loosening 
the massive braids w^hich betrayed her woman- 



WITH REGARD TO MEDICAL SCIENCE. 139 

hood, she entered the lists with the physicians 
of the time. Hierophihis himself had the man- 
hood to sustain and instruct her in her career. 
Her extraordinary popularity roused the hatred 
of the clique. They accused her of the basest 
corruption ; and it was not until her life was in 
danger, that, slipping her professional gown from 
her shoulder, she disclosed her sex, and silenced 
her accusers. " No matter," cried the disappoint- 
ed empirics ; ^^ she has violated the law : let her 
be condemned for that.'' How the Areopagus 
might have decided, we have no means of know- 
ing; for the women of Athens, who watched 
every stage of the proceedings with absorbing 
interest, rushed in a body to the assembly, 
requiring her to be set free. What they had not 
yielded to compassion or to justice, the judges 
yielded to tumult and importunity. Agnodike 
was released ; and a law was immediately passed, 
empowering all free-born women to learn mid- 
wifery. Not yet did they do justice to the slave. 
Long after the fall of Rome, women exercised 
this profession there. During the middle ages, 
they alone practised it in France ; and it was 
not till after the accession of Henry IV. that 
men laid claim to its privileges. How slowly it 
passed into their hands, may be gathered from 



140 THE POSITION OF WOMEN 

the fact, that Weitt (or Veites) was burned alive 
at Hamburg, in 1522, for having dared to assume 
the post of midwife. About the middle of the 
sixteenth century, the beautiful but unprincipled 
Gabrielle d'Estrees, to pique the attendants of 
the queen, feigned a timidity she did not feel, 
and desired the aid of a surgeon. Two com- 
petitors presented themselves. She called Lari- 
viere to her assistance, and D'Alibon died of 
grief No similar innovation is known to have 
taken place at the court of France until more 
than a century after, when the dissolute grand- 
son of Heniy, Louis XIV., desired to save the 
reputation of La Valliere. This gentle favorite 
dreaded the gossip of the court ; and, in order 
that she might escape from the tongue of a 
woman J one of the most accomplished physicians 
of the time, Julien Clement, was called to her 
side. The result equalled the anticipations of 
the discarded midwife. '^ It was not twenty- 
four hours," says the historian, ^^ before this ad- 
venture was known, not only throughout France, 
but wherever a day's post could travel.'' Sa- 
courbe, the satirist of that age, forgetting the 
story of La Gabrielle, says that Clement was 
the — 

" First in Europe to make Lucina blush." 



WITH REGARD TO MEDICAL SCIENCE. 141 

Verily, the medical profession may be proud 
when they consider through whose hands and 
in what manner this branch of their practice 
was transmitted to them. A century later, mid- 
wifery is found to have passed into the hands of 
speculative physicians. The practical experience 
of the ages rested with women. There were no 
models, nor preparations nor plates, at that time, 
nor until thirty years after, calculated in any 
degree to supply the place of this. What, then, 
did the human race gain by the change ? A rash 
theoretical practice succeeded to patient attend- 
ance. The physicians pocketed their fees and 
swallowed their fright. The change was doubt- 
less precipitated by the unfitness of the means 
of education for women, and the number of 
ignorant women, who, from the beginning of the 
seventeenth century, had been pensioned and 
brevetted throughout France. The first obste- 
trical school was established at Leyden in 1733. 
It was followed by that at the Hotel Dieu in 
1745, The course of lectures delivered here to 
women only benefited those of the metropolis, 
or occasionally the women, who, having been 
educated here, returned to England, and strug- 
gled more or less successfully against the em- 
pirics with which London swarmed. But it was 



142 THE POSITION OF WOMEN 

not till Madame Boivin became the head of the 
School of the Maternity in Paris, in 1809, that 
any serious attempt was made to remedy the evil. 
Then special schools, under competent heads, 
were established throughout the provinces. The 
ablest pupils from the provinces came up to 
Paris to complete their education; and after 
they were graduated, receiving the credentials 
of the hospital, their success depended not 
so much upon any difference of preparation, 
as on the native difference in tact and mani- 
pulative skill. 

Justice has not been done to woman in the 
history of medicine ; and, in order to draw the 
attention of those far better fitted than ourselves 
to the discussion of the subject, we shall sketch 
a few of the lives that in this connection have 
interested us most deeply. 

Since the beginning of history, the lives of 
eighty-nine women, eminent not only for ob- 
stetrical skill, but capable of extended medical 
practice, have been written. Fifty-two of these 
women were French ; forty-one only were mar- 
ried ; twenty-eight were remarkable for their 
contributions to medical instruction and general 
literature ; ten received the degree of M.D. from 
colleges of high standing : and seven only could 



WITH REGARD TO MEDICAL SCIENCE. 143 

have had their enthusiasm kindled by their 
sympathies and affections ; for only seven were 
wives, mothers, or daughters, of surgeons. When 
we say that we know something of eighty-nine 
women devoted to medical science, we do not 
mean that no larger number have made them- 
selves distinguished, but that a sufficient de- 
gree of study will yield a clear and satisfactory 
account of these. Little more than a dozen 
names have come down to us from the period 
preceding the Christian era. The history of 
Agnodike has already been presented to you, 
and four other names may be mentioned which 
will possess a general intei'est : they are those 
of Aspasia, Artemisia of Karia, Cleopatra, and 
Elpinike. The accounts of Aspasia are clear 
and satisfactory ; but it is not certain that 
Aspasia the midwife was the Aspasia of Pericles. 
The period at which she lived, the talent she 
evinced, and the fascinations ascribed to her, 
have, however, given rise to the conjecture. 
Artemisia was the queen who assisted Xerxes 
so boldly at the battle of Salamis. In his first 
naval engagement, Xerxes refused to follow her 
advice ; but, when misfortune had opened his 
eyes, he again consulted her. She advised re- 
treat. To the pride of Xerxes, that was too 



144: THE POSITION OF WOMEN 

humiliating. When the engagement began, her 
conduct was so distinguished, that Xerxes, who 
looked on, said that the only men in the battle 
were the women. Her boldness drew upon her 
a hot pursuit ; and, perceiving herself inadequate 
to the emergency, she hoisted Grecian colors, 
and attacked a small Persian ship. The manoeu- 
vre, though only half understood in the confusion 
of the hour, insured her safety ; and Xerxes for- 
gave her treachery in admiration of her genius. 
Strange as it may seem, this woman w^as tender 
and efficient at the bedside of the sick. Cleo- 
patra of Egypt found time, between her various 
flirtations, assassinations, and military undertak- 
ings, to write several books. Of these, history 
preserves the names of but two. One was a trea- 
tise on midwifery ; the other, an essay on the art 
of dress. In Greece, Elpinike, the daughter of 
Cimon and sister of Miltiades, is known to have 
pursued the same profession. So sacred was the 
position of a midwife, that, at this era, queens, 
princesses, and priestesses at the altar, did not 
hesitate to perform its functions ; and long after, 
at the court of France, when the purity of Joan 
of Arc was called in question, it was not a col- 
lege of surgeons, but five women of the noblest 
blood, who made the legal depositions consequent 



WITH REGARD TO MEDICAL SCIENCE. 145 

upon examination, which wiped away the asper- 
sion. 

Trotula is the earhest among modern mid- 
wives of whom we find any distinct account. 
She was born at Salerno in the middle of the 
thirteenth century. She published several 
works ; and one of them, ^^ De Mulierum Pas- 
sionibus," is said to have produced an era in 
medical literature : but an nfluence of this 
kind, exerted before the invention of printing, 
must have been, of necessity, very limited. 

In the fifteenth century, only two women seem 
to deserve especial notice. 

The first of these is Madame Perrette, whose 
name Avas famous throughout France. She was 
sworn into office as a midwife in the year 1408. 
After a life of singular usefulness, she was im- 
prisoned, and condemned to death, for sorcery. 
The letter of condemnation, written in very old 
French and signed by the king, may be found in 
Delacoux : it is a striking specimen of the super- 
stition of the time. The execution, however, 
did not take place. Perrette had made herself 
too valuable. The ladies of France demanded 
her services, and she was pardoned. 

The second was Madame Gaucourt, one of 

10 



146 THE POSITION OF WOMEN 

the examiners of Joan of Arc, later in the cen- 
tury. 

In the sixteenth century, I find but four 
names of interest, — Madame Frangoise, Olym- 
pia Morata, Madame Perronne, and Louise Bour- 
sier Bourgeois. 

Madame Frangoise was the midwife of Cathe- 
rine de Medicis ; and she is the first female 
lecturer in obstetrics, of whom we find it re- 
corded, that she lectured ably to large classes 
of both sexes. This was a little before the middle 
of the century, 

Olympia Morata, born in Ferrara in 1526, was 
educated as a companion to the princesses of 
the house of Este. She was one of those rare 
geniuses, capable, in a short life of twenty-nine 
years, of leaving a permanent impression behind 
her. She was a professor of Greek, and a woman 
of singular sweetness. She had the intelhgence 
to become a convert to the reformed religion ; 
and, becoming suspected, married hastily a young 
physician, whom she followed to his home in 
Germany. It is stated that she prepared the 
lectures which he delivered at Heidelberg. Her 
mental activity continued through the horrors 
of a war which then devastated Germany ; but 



WITH REGARD TO MEDICAL SCIENCE. 147 

her precarious position shortened her life, and 
she died, after two imprisonments and the de- 
struction of the University, in 1555. The letters 
written by her husband to his friend prove that 
she was not the less a tender woman and devot- 
ed wife because she was also an accomplished 
scholar. An edition of her letters and her 
Latin and Greek poems was published by her 
master, Celio Secundo Curio, in 1562, and dedi- 
cated to Queen Elizabeth, 

James Guillemeau was a French surgeon of 
eminence, who died in 1612. His works are 
considered valuable : but Madame Perronne is 
said to have contributed to them all the obste- 
trical observations ; " for,'' adds her biographer, 
^' we owe to the observation of women all that 
physicians have written on this subject until 
the time of Moriceau." 

Louise Boursier Bourgeois was born in 1580. 
She married a surgeon ; and after reverses of 
fortune, owing to the accession of Henry IV., 
studied late in life. Even then, the physicians 
who examined her were not free from a jealousy 
which has been their disgrace in later times. 
Finding her preparation thorough, they re- 
proached her with the inability of her husband 
to support her. She answered with becoming 



148 THE POSITION OF WOMEN 

spirit, that those were the most truly inefficient 
men who selected wives incapable of self-sup- 
port. She was appointed to attend the Queen 
of France. She pubhshed many valuable Avorks ; 
and, among them, a letter to her daughter, full 
of wisdom, in which she entreats her ^^ to con- 
tinue to learn to the last day of her life.'' She 
was remarkable for precision, sagacity, and frank- 
ness. She wrote verses, which are still read 
with pleasure ; and a contemporary poet says, 
with the extravagance of his nation, that to 
praise her properly would require the " pen of 
an angel and the mind of a god.'' She con- 
quered the prejudices to which we have alluded, 
so far as to be, at the time of her death, in cor- 
respondence with all the celebrated physicians 
of the day. She was, moreover, the original 
discoverer of the true cause of uterine hemor- 
rhage ; and, having followed her own convic- 
tions until she was assured of their soundness, 
she published a book on the subject, which 
produced a total change in the management of 
such diseased manifestations. In this book, she 
feelingly laments the death of an accomplished 
lady of the court of France, which took place 
in consequence of her own adherence to the 
practice of the time. 



WITH REGARD TO MEDICAL SCIENCE. 149 

In the seventeenth century, we find the names 
of thirty women. Three of them — La Marche, 
Siegmunden, and Boucher — have claims to the 
remembrance of our time. 

It is in this century also that we must record 
a memorable service to the practising physician, 
in the introduction of Peruvian bark. This Avas 
accomplished by the energy and perseverance 
of a woman. Women have introduced remedies, 
detected difierences, and adapted contrivances, 
which have at once escaped the observation and 
exceeded the power of men. What is commonly 
called Peruvian bark — the substance from which 
quinine is extracted — was first brought into 
notice by a woman : a fact encyclopedists are 
very unwiUing to state ; for, out of thirty, only 
two mention her name in connection with the 
fact. 

The Countess de Cinchona, a Spanish lady, 
was the wife of a viceroy of Peru. Attacked 
by the fever of the country, she insisted upon 
trying the Indian remedy, which had not then 
attracted the notice of any European. She was 
speedily cured; and, on her return to Europe 
in 1632, she made great exertions to spread the 
knowledge of the new medicine, of which she 
carried home a great quantity. She gave it to 



150 THE POSITION OF WOMEN 

Cardinal Lugo, who carried it to Eome in 1649. 
Its value was soon recognized, in spite of the 
discouragements of the sceptical ; and it spread 
through Europe under the name of quinquina. 
The Jesuits at the missions induced their Indians 
to collect it, and soon began to export it in large 
quantities : hence the name, " Jesuits' bark.'' 
They had not the courage to use or the human- 
ity to introduce it; but they had shrewdness 
enough to profit by an experiment which a 
woman had the faith to try. These facts are 
established by Sebastian Badus, the physician 
of Cardinal Lugo, in an essay entitled "Anas- 
tasis Corticis Peruviani seu Chinas Defensis," 
published at Genoa in 1661. 

It was more than a hundred years after the 
courageous countess had braved cardinals, physi- 
cians, and public opinion, that the great Swedish 
naturalist, Linnaeus, published a classified " Ma- 
teria Medica." In memory of her service, he 
gave the name of Cinchona to the genus of 
plants which furnish this bark. It was not the 
Jesuits who introduced this remedy : they only 
sold it after it was introduced. A woman col- 
lected the samples, testified to its virtue, dis- 
tributed it in proper quarters, and interested 
in its behalf a powerful friend at the court of 
Rome. 



WITH REGARD TO MEDICAL SCIENCE. 151 

Gathered on the banks of the Amazon and its 
tributaries, but chiefly in the forests of Peru, 
this bark is still supplied by the Indians attached 
to the missions. The tree is one of the Rubia- 
cese, the species to which the well-known madder 
belongs. It looks like a cherry, and bears pretty 
clusters of red flowers. It is cut by the Indians 
in the dry season, and supplies three kinds of 
bark, — the red, yellow, and pale. 

The pale has been found to be the strongest. 
In the time of our brave countess, the remedy 
was chewed and swallowed in nauseous quanti- 
ties ; but, a few years since, the French chemists 
Pelletier and Carenton discovered the principle 
on which its power depends, and w^hich we call 
quinine. In 1826, ninety thousand ounces of 
the sulphate were manufactured by the four 
leading chemists of France. 

Madame La Marche, who was born in 1638, 
was chiefly remarkable for literary attainments. 
Her name is valuable, because it shows that 
women of great accomplishments did not dis- 
dain the profession. She published a work on 
obstetrics, which shows great genius, but is too 
complicated to be useful as a practical guide. 

Justine Dieterich Siegmunden was born at 
Wehmutter, in Silesia, in 1650. She published 



152 THE POSITION OF WOMEN 

some controversial works, and was remarkable 
for tlie precision and accuracy of her observa- 
tions. She had the good sense to write in her 
native tongue. " Had she written in Latin/^ says 
a contemporary physician, " her works would 
have placed her in the highest rank.^' Solinger, 
a medical authority of eminence, drew all his 
facts from her observation. She was remarkable 
for a profound knowledge of human and compa- 
rative anatomy, and her obstetrical works passed 
through six editions. She stood in the rank of 
the most capable practitioners of her time. 

Boucher, w^ho arrived at some eminence, was 
the attendant of La Valhere, after her unfortu- 
nate experience of Julien Clement's flippant 
tongue. 

Thirty women made themselves eminent in 
this profession in the eighteenth century. So 
many of them were remarkable, that we shall 
hardly have time or space to mention their 
names. 

First came Madame Breton, who perfected 
a system of artificial nourishment for babes, still 
in use in France. She was not much respected 
by the men or women of her time ; for instead 
of giving her invention to the world, and trust- 



WITH REGARD TO MEDICAL SCIENCE. 153 

ing to the future overflow of the Nile of hunian 
gratitude for her harvest, she procured a patent, 
and virtually shut out all but the children of 
the rich from the benefits of the invention. 

Elizabeth Blackwell follows ; and those of us 
who are looking forward with hope to the career 
of a countrywoman of that name will hear with 
interest some particulars of her courageous pro- 
totype. She was born in England in 1712. Her 
sick husband becoming bankrupt by extraordi- 
nary reverses^ she studied midwifery, in the 
hope of supporting her family. The jealousy 
of the faculty hindered her success. She was, 
however, encouraged to print a large work on 
medical botany at the early age of twenty-four. 
It is stated on the authority of a physician, that 
this work — published in 1736, with large plates, 
in three volumes folio, at London — was the first 
of its kind in any country. 

Madame Ducoudray, born at Paris in the same 
year, influenced by her advice not only all the 
physicians of her neighborhood, but of her time. 
She possessed patience, zeal, and a simple and 
clear but exact method. Her first treatise on 
obstetrics was written, as she said, from pity of 
the miserable victims of mal-practice. She was 
the first lecturer who used a manikin, which she 



154 THE POSITION OF WOMEN 

herself invented and perfected. It was approved 
by the French Academy of Surgeons, Dec. 1, 
1758. In 1766, she delivered by special request 
a series of lectures before the Naval Medical 
School at Rochefort. 

Next in order comes the name of Morandi,"^ 
who was born at Bologna in 1716; but it is im- 
possible to mention her without naming also 
Mademoiselle Biheron, born at Paris in 1730, 
— fourteen years later. To these two persons 
is owing the invention and perfection of wax 
preparations ; a matter of which all persons who 
have seen Signer Sarti^s fine figures will, at 
least, perceive the importance. The men who 
write about these two women grow red and 
angry over their respective claims, and remind 
us of the struggle in later times for the honor 
of the invention of ether. Having decided for 
ourselves in favor of the younger aspirant, we 
must dwell at some length on the facts of her 
history. She possessed an enthusiastic love of 
anatomy ; but, on account of the poverty of her 
parents, could rarely attend a dissection. From 
her small girlish earnings she contrived to pay 
persons w^ho stole and brought to her bodies, 

* See article on the Women of Bologna. 



WITH REGARD TO MEDICAL SCIENCE. 155 

which she concealed in her chamber. Practi- 
cally, she conquered the difficulties of the knife ; 
but the bodies were often in such a state, that 
she could not preserve them long enough to 
satisfy her curiosity. For this purpose, she 
rapidly imitated the parts in Avax. The intense- 
ness with which she pursued the most disgust- 
ing avocations is almost frightful to think of; 
but, in spite of prejudice, she was eventually 
aided by Jussieu, a member of the French Aca- 
demy, and Villoisin, a celebrated physician of 
Paris. For thirty years, says the historian, ^^ elle 
fut Tunique et la premiere en ce genre de ta- 
lent." She perfected her own invention and 
the common manikin. Her collection of wax- 
work was open to the public on every Wednes- 
day, was crowded by visitors, and finally pur- 
chased by Catherine II. of Russia. Medical 
despotism forbade her to lecture, and twice 
forced her to quit Paris. It is to the credit of 
England, that Hunter and Hewson received her 
with enthusiasm at London. Hunter's fine work 
on the Uterus was published seven years after 
the construction and exhibition at Gottingen 
of the wax uterus of Biheron. She began her 
studies at the age of sixteen ; and we claim for 
her the independent invention of wax prepara- 



156 THE POSITION OF WOMEN 

tions, because she had finished a good prepa- 
ration about three years before Morandi entered 
upon the pursuit. 

Morandi married at Bologna a wax-modeller 
named Manzolini ; and it naturally occurred to 
her, as a student of medicine, that the material 
in which he worked might be useful in illustra- 
tions. He taught her to use it ; and it was 
probably her great success and skilful lecturing 
which raised her, in 1758, to the chair of anatomy 
in the University of Bologna. Her collection of 
wax- work was thought worthy of a visit by 
Joseph II. She died in 1774. 

Elizabeth Nihell was born in London in 1723. 
She studied at the Hotel Dieu, and returned to 
England ; where she made herself memorable 
by opposing, on the one hand, a distinguished 
physician, and, on the other, a notorious quack. 
Dr. Smellie was lecturing on midwifery at Lon- 
don, aided by an attempt at a manikin it would 
be too great a tax upon our soberness to de- 
scribe. Enough that Elizabeth Nihell succeeded 
in making his assortment of strings and leather, 
beer and cork plugs, wholly ridiculous. At the 
same time, a notorious quack named Godalmin 
was agitating theories, and showing experiments 
to the physicians of London, too disgusting and 



WITH REGARD TO MEDICAL SCIENCE. 157 

absurd to be more than alluded to here. His 
companion in this work of darkness was named 
St. Andre. William GifFord was the only physi- 
cian in London who withstood the imposition ; 
but Elizabeth Nihell and Sarah Stone, both prac- 
tising midwives, did so. Sarah Stone was the 
elder of the two, and the author of a work pub- 
lished in 1737, and called ^' Complete Practice. '^ 
Gifford's name is honorably mentioned in the 
history of this affair ; but who remembers that 
of Nihell or Stone? The generous witnesses 
to their honorable conduct are men ; and one of 
them goes so far as to say, " If sometimes, in the 
history of midwifery, we have found woman su- 
perstitious or weak, we have never found her 
projecting deliberate fraud, nor capable of rash 
experiment.'^ 

Madame Reffatin, born in 1720, was the author 
of a work on *^ Delayed Accouchements.'^ 

Plisson, born in 1727, contributed respectably 
to the general literature of her time. 

Margaret Stevens, born in London in 1750, 
was the author of the " Domestic Midwife,^' 
London, 1795. 

Madame Lunel, who was practising in Paris 
in 1750, is said by a French physician to have 
observed with great precision, and described 



158 THE POSITION OF WOMEN 

with rare happiness. She published a work 
which elicits his warm admiration. It appears 
to have been written with the enthusiasm of 
genius ; for he speaks of the manoeuvring de- 
scribed in it as splendid, but not to be trusted, 
he says, to any but a student of the soundest 
judgment. Why did it not occur to him, that, 
in a woman, the exercise of tact might supply 
the exercise of reason? 

The name of Madame La Chapelle cannot be 
mentioned as that of a stranger. None of the 
faculty deny the value of her researches. One 
of the oldest of Boston physicians dwells with 
pleasure on his indebtedness to her. She was 
born in 1761, and took, as we know, the degree of 
M.D. Her lectures were equally distinguished 
for clearness, force, and beauty. 

Of Madame Lerebours, I only know that she 
is the author of a work entitled '^ Avis aux 
Meres," published in 1770; which shows learn- 
ing and practice. It merits great confidence. 

Madame Wittembach was born at Haineau in 
1773. She was distinguished for her knowledge 
of Greek literature and composition, and took 
the two degrees of A.M. and M.D. from the col- 
lege at Marburg in 1827. She was at first 
housekeeper to her uncle, the celebrated Greek 



WITH REGARD TO MEDICAL SCIENCE. 159 

professor of the same name ; but, in order that 
his library and his honors might come safely 
into her possession, he married her, two years 
before his death. An Hellenic production of 
Madame Wittembach's, entitled " Theogenes at 
the Banquet of Leontes/' was translated into 
French, German, Dutch, and modern Greek. 
The titles of her professional works we have 
not been able to procure ; but, after the death 
of her husband, she was loaded with honors, 
and died with great calmness, and a still active 
mind, a few hours after writing some letters in 
Latin, April 12, 1830. 

At the very close of the century, an Irish 
midwife made herself remarkable by performing 
the Cesarean operation with success. Twenty- 
five cases are reported by Barlow and Black- 
born in their " Medical Researches,'' published 
in 1798, of which this was the only one that 
ended happily. Her name was Dunally. She 
performed the operation with a razor, seized in 
the absence of every suitable implement, and 
the impossibility of procuring a surgeon. She 
held the wound for two hours with her lips. ' 

In the eighteenth century also, Lady Mary 
Wortley Montagu rendered the greatest service 
to medicine and the world by effecting the in- 



IGO THE POSITION OF WOMEN 

troduction of inoculation in 1721. The world 
has recently erected a statue to Jenner, w^ho, 
fortunately observing the identity of the vaccine 
disease with the human, and finding the Glouces- 
tershire milkmaids secured by its inadvertent 
inoculations against the ravages of a more fatal 
kind, deserves that we should gratefully remem- 
ber him. But Lady Mary also observed facts 
that others ignored, and encountered obstacles 
to her benevolent desires still more serious. 
The faculty rose in arms against her, the 
clergy declaimed against her impiety, and the 
children were taught to hoot at her in the 
street. 

The experiment was first tried on criminals. 
When it was shown to be successful. Lady Mary 
inoculated her own daughter ; but the four phy- 
sicians in attendance showed such a spirit, that 
she dared not leave the child for a moment, lest 
it should, in some secret way, suffer from their 
interference. As the thing gained ground, peo- 
ple sought her aid and opinion ; and, to show^ her 
confidence in the remedy, she took her daughter 
with her from one sick -chamber to another. 
Queen Caroline, the wife of George the Second, 
a lively and intelligent woman, gave to the at- 
tempt an effective sympathy ; and these two 



WITH REGARD TO MEDICAL SCIENCE. 161 

women proved in the struggle that their hearts 
were generous and their spirits brave. 

In the natural — or, shall we say, most un- 
natural? — way, one person in seven died of 
small-pox. Lady Mary, by inoculation, reduced 
the mortality to one in three hundred and 
twelve ; Dr. Jenner, by vaccination, to one in 
four hundred and fifty : but seventy-eight years 
intervened between the introduction of the two 
remedies. 

The nineteenth century is not yet gone, and 
the tribute it shall bear to the stream of history 
will depend very much upon the women of to- 
day. Ten have already contributed their mite 
to its medical glory. 

Madame Rondet, born in 1800, is remarkable 
for having perfected a tube for the restoration 
of children born in a state of asphyxia. A tube 
had been invented by Chaussier, but was too 
inconvenient to be used. The Royal Academy 
still ascribe the honor to him ; but the habit 
reflects no credit on their medical knowledge. 
Dr. Aikin had published at London, in 1786, a 
work on Midwifery, suggesting such an instru- 
ment. It is not probable that Madame Rondet 
ever heard of this book ; but it would be dis- 

11 



162 THE POSITION OF WOMEN 

graceful to any member of the Academy not to 
have read it. 

Madame Dian, practising in 1821, was cele- 
brated for manual skill. 

The name of Madame Boivin is well known 
to the faculty. It suggests to every mind a 
splendid success in the profession to which she 
devoted herself. Her first work, " Memorial des 
Accouchemens/' was published in 1812, and 
went through three editions. The celebrated 
Chaussier published her engravings and dia- 
grams. In 1819, she published a memoir on 
Hemorrhages, and another on Tumors; in 1827, 
one on "La Mole V^siculaire ; '' in 1828, a me- 
moir on Abortion; and in 1829 another, on the 
" Absorption of the Placenta.'^ Most of these 
have been translated into German. She has 
herself translated elegantly ; and eleven of her 
original memoirs are well known to the medical 
public. 

In the first week of July, 1859, there died 
at Darmstadt a woman, whose contributions to 
medical science, when the time arrives for esti- 
mating them, may prove more important than 
those of all the women we have named. She 
came of the Yon Siebolds, a family highly dis- 
tinguished in her own speciality. It was ancient 



WITH REGARD TO MEDICAL SCIENCE. 163 

and noble. Her father founded the famous Hos- 
pital at Berlin, where Marie Zakrzewska was 
once superintendent and resident physician ; 
and her brother, still living, stands high in 
medical fame, having written the best history 
of Midwifery extant. Born, in 1792, a baroness 
in her own right. Dr. Heidenreich found no 
excuse in that fact for an idle life. She studied 
at the Universities of Gottingen and Giessen, 
and took her doctor's degree, not by favor of 
the faculty, but, like any other student, by writ- 
ing the customary Latin dissertation, and by 
bravely defending in public disputation a num- 
ber of medical theses. After that, she took up 
her abode at Darmstadt ; indefatigable in her 
devotion to obstetrics, and universally honored 
as one of its first living authorities. 

It may be said, that, in sketching lightly the 
history of so many sages -femmeSj we have not 
proved that women have contributed any thing 
to medical science. It is easy to see how small 
a number of women have devoted themselves 
to it in any single century. They have done it 
in spite of great difficulties, and amid many 
oppressions ; but how much have they accom- 
plished ! We forbear to dwell on their rich 
contributions to both the medical and the general 



164 THE POSITION OF WOMEN 

literature of their time. It should be remarked, 
however, in passing, that these contributions 
owe what popularity they have to intrinsic 
merit. They have sought and found the light 
of day, without the pompous recommendation of 
institutions, or the forced encouragement of a 
clique. Morata's lectures were not confined to 
obstetrics ; and we have the testimony of physi- 
cians themselves, that, until the time of Mori- 
ceau, not only the ordinary medical authorities, 
but distinguished men like Solinger and Guille- 
meau, depended upon women for the observa- 
tions from which their theories were deduced. 
Madame Bourgeois altered the practice of the 
whole world in the treatment of a large class of 
hemorrhages. Madame Breton perfected, more 
than a hundred years ago, a system of artificial 
nourishment, still in use in France. 

Mrs. Blackwell prepared the first illustrated 
medical botany. Mesdames Ducoudray, Bih^ron, 
and Morandi independently assisted in perfecting 
the manikin ; and Bih^ron and Morandi indepen- 
dently perfected wax preparations. Mrs. Nihell 
and Mrs. Stone resisted successfully quackeries 
which deluded all the faculty of their time. Mrs. 
Dunally, with the roughest instruments, suc- 
ceeded in an operation in which twenty-four 



WITH REGARD TO MEDICAL SCIENCE. 165 

physicians of the century had failed. Madame 
Rondet adapted, so that it became of practical 
benefit, the tube that not all the genius and 
learning of Chaussier could redeem from in- 
approachable clumsiness. Madame Wittembach 
was consulted by all the physicians of her time, 
and medical science felt and acknowledged her 
signal ability through all its ramifications. Her 
interest in it was free from folly or personal 
weakness ; and, with her last breath, she desired 
that the result of a post-mortem examination 
might be forwarded to a scientific friend at 
Paris."^ 

We would not be thought, from the facts 
above presented, to have a narrow or illiberal 
interest in the education of women. We do not 
wish to turn them into a swarm of midwives or 
a college of physicians ; but we wish the sources 
of all knowledge to be thrown generously open 
to them : and we have thought, that to inquire 
what they had already done might decide the 
question, "What have they a right to do?'' 
The limit to human acquisition must be set in 

* That the late Dr. John C. Warren desired to be subjected to 
an autopsy has been thought fair matter of eulogy; but, twenty 
years before, this woman had set him the example. 



166 THE POSITION OF WOMEN 

the greater or less intensity of human desire, 
and no question of sex can complicate the state- 
ment. 

Biheron, destined to be an anatomist, will be 
such, whether a college of dissectors smile or 
frown. "Wittembach, versed alike in the mys- 
teries of ancient tongues and modern physics, 
becomes the counsellor of the strongest men of 
her time, in spite of the precious hours stolen 
from the young German housekeeper by ]^er 
pantry and her needle. In the first efforts to 
gain a thorough education, in whatever direc- 
tion pursued, some confusion must arise. Old 
landmarks will be thrown down, new ones will 
but slowly take their place, and the whole of 
society will miss, in this period of transition, 
that heavenly order which it always desires, but 
has never yet attained. 

Sad it is to think that many will come up to the 
work unsuited to its duties, and unprepared for 
its sacrifices, — ^ women who will lose their house- 
hold graces in a mad ambition or a foolish noto- 
riety. Such women are malefactors, whom no 
tribunal can condemn but that of the Infinite 
Father who protects the beauty and truth of 
the moral nature. They will hinder where they 
cannot help ; and for this trial w^e must be pre- 



WITH REGARD TO MEDICAL SCIENCE. 167 

pared. In our patience, in our strength, in 
magnanimous trust in God, let us await it ; and 
let us preserve, so far as in us lies, a sobriety 
and tenderness that shall make our mission ac- 
ceptable where it is not desired, desired where 
it was at first hardly endured. 

If God has made woman unsuited to the 
struggles of life, no formal statutes, and no want 
of them, can deprive her of the sheltered niche 
originally hers. Leave her free, and she will 
learn, by trying, what she cannot do; and the 
bitter experience of one half-century will settle 
the question for the race. But, on the other 
hand, if God intended her to walk side by side 
with man, wherever he sees fit to go, the move- 
ment now commencing must materially aid the 
civilization of the present. Finer elements will 
be poured into the molten metal of society ; 
and, when the final cast is taken, we shall see 
sharper edges, clearer reliefs, and finer lining, 
than we have been wont. It is not necessary 
to part with the gentler graces of womanhood 
when we aspire to the ability and acquisitions of 
students ; and they who act as if they thought 
so, cruelly wrong their sex. The classical world 
bitterly mourned the young Morata, but not with 
the broken-heartedness of the husband whose 



168 WOMEN AND MEDICAL SCIENCE. 

strength and life she had always been. Clotilda 
Tambroni was crowned not only with the laurels 
of a Greek professorship, but ^^with modesty 
and every virtue." It was the tender apprecia- 
tion of the women of Bologna that erected a 
monument to Laura Veratta, who was not only a 
professor of natural and general philosophy in 
the college, but enhanced the glory of her sex 
in private life and gay society. Let us not com- 
mit high treason against the memory of women 
like Lady Jane Grey and Margaret of Navarre 
by such a faith. 

It seems to us that women, above all, should 
be encouraged to the full use of whatever 
strength their Maker has given them. Is it not 
essential to the virtue of society, that they 
should be allowed the freest moral action, unfet- 
tered by ignorance, and unintimidated by author- 
ity ? " For, if women were not weak, men could 
not be wicked ; and, if women were sound and 
faithful guides, men need never be ashamed of 
their influence, nor afraid of their power." 



VIII. 

THE 

DUTIES AND INFLUENCE OF WOMEN. 



" Dans les republiques, les femmes sout libres par les loia, et captivees 
paries moeurs." — De L'Esprit des Lois. 



ri^HE elevation of women to their just position 
-*- in society depends upon themselves. Men 
cannot help them. Influence follows close upon 
the heels of character ; and whatever we are, 
that we shall in the end be acknowledged to be. 
Two classes of women are interested in the re- 
form now advocated. Women of superior talent, 
left free by the noble justice of husbands, fathers, 
or brothers, who have tasted the blessings of 
liberty, desire above all things that the whole 
human race should share them also. Women 
oppressed, degraded, suffering, feeling their lof- 
tiest powers crushed, their holiest mission unful- 
filled, rise in bitter indignation, naturally enough, 
perhaps, after an antagonistic fashion, and ask, 
not merely freedom, but acknowledgment and 
compensation. 



170 DUTIES AND INFLUENCE OF WOMEN. 

There is still another class, whose influence 
w^ould powerfully aid the cause, because it would 
be exerted quietly, unconsciously, and in circles 
that no other power will reach for centuries. 
There are scattered here and there, throughout 
the land, myriads of happy wives and mothers, 
living in a subserviency to well-beloved hus- 
bands and fathers, which dulls conscience and pa- 
ralyzes the intellect. They are dimly conscious 
that they are not all they ought to be. Ab- 
sorbed in business or politics, their husbands can- 
not fitly judge of all their duties ; and yet their 
decisions concerning them their wives love them 
too well to resist. They feel^ that, if their hus- 
bands trusted them as reasonable, responsible, 
human beings, all this would be changed ; that 
if they thus acknowledged the right of their 
wives to those '^ worldly goods," with which, on 
the wedding-day, every husband pledges himself 
to " endow " his wife, then the household might 
be more economically managed, Charity might 
possess her own, and Art and Literature have 
their claim well met, without robbing the table, 
or superseding the orderly arrangements of the 
household. But a pride which we ought to re- 
spect, since it clings to the skirts of Love, 
prevents them from acknowledging this. They 



DUTIES AND INFLUENCE OF WOMEN. 171 

would blusli to say that the money which meets 
their daily expenses is drawn from favor rather 
than from justice, or that there is no holy cause 
on earth that they can aid before it has approved 
itself to a husband's judgment and liberality. 
These women have a secret, undefined sympathy 
in whatever is undertaken for the freedom of 
the sex. They would like to aid it, if they could 
do so without going to conventions, making 
speeches, or wearing Grecian costume. Let 
them take heed what they do ; for theirs is a 
sacred responsibility. Upon such women, even 
more than upon those w^ho are acknowledged 
as reformers, w^ill the national progress de- 
pend. What can they do, do they ask ? They 
can elevate their own characters ; they can show 
men that the interest of morahty, religion, and 
woman, in the highest sense, are one. They can 
make men respect them, in the austerest signifi- 
cation of that term ; for it need be no secret, 
that, though men love the women about them 
only too well, they do not respect them in the 
same sense that they do other men, nor preserve 
to them, in ordinary, social intercourse, the same 
privileges or rights. It is for the class of women 
of whom we speak to alter this. Whether it be 
ever otherwise, will depend on their own truth, 
dignity, and self-knowledge. 



172 DUTIES AND INFLUENCE OF WOMEN. 

Such women, when they are left widows or 
orphans with a large property, owe a great debt 
to the cause of female education. They ought 
everywhere to insist on the most liberal educa- 
tional advantages being secured to girls, and to 
insure respect for their arguments, as men are 
often compelled to do, by the offer of substantial 
aid. Education freely offered will soon settle 
the question of woman's rights and duties. We 
work best who work most earnestlv for that. We 
hope to show this to the class of women we ad- 
dress in the present article. In this reform, as 
in the antislavery, fact is better than argument, 
though one is no substitute for the other. A 
well-educated, highly principled negro is the 
best argument for African freedom : so an intel- 
ligent woman, feeling an interest in the well- 
being of her nation and the world, and capable 
at once of orderly house-keeping, a delicate 
toilet, acute argument, lofty speculation, or vigor- 
ous work (and no person is educated who has 
not a vocation), makes the strongest appeal for 
the whole freedom of her sex. 

All women can do something to prove this, 
and we need not go beyond Italy or the ninteenth 
century for the evidence. We saw, the other 
day, a letter written by a lady in Scotland to 



DUTIES AND INFLUENCE OF WOMEN. 173 

her brother, dow connected as a professor with 
one of the colleges in this country. 

^^ You have sent me/' she wrote, '^ some ar- 
ticles written by American women to prove 
themselves the equals of men. They have moved 
me profoundly ; for, as no one ever impugned my 
freedom or equality, I always supposed myself 
to possess both. Upon reflection, I find that I 
have lived all these years under a delusion, and 
that I owe to the courtesy of a few what I sup- 
posed myself to derive from the justice of all.'' 

This is not an isolated case. It has always 
been easier for gifted individuals to pass the bar- 
riers of custom in a monarchical or a despotic 
country than in republican America. There are 
reasons for this, both political and domestic. In 
a political point of view, an exceptional case 
forms, in such countries, no precedent. A right 
to a professor's chair, or a vote on public ques- 
tions, might be granted to women as well as to 
men of low station, simply as a reward or an en- 
couragement. In the United States, where there 
are no privileged orders, it could only be done 
in acknowledgment of a universal principle 
which would secure the rights of thousands. In 
a domestic view, the simple condition of society 
in America gives most women full employment. 



174 DUTIES AND INFLUENCE OF WOMEN. 

However wealthy or high-born, American women 
are, with few exceptions, compelled to be their 
own housekeepers; and the entertainment of 
company involves personal labor to a greater or 
less extent. Among the aristocratic households 
of Europe, no such obligations exist. 

The only connection between a large class of 
women and their dependants is that of command 
on the one side, and obedience on the other. 

Madame has no occasion to lose her appetite 
because she knows what is to be for dinner, nor 
to compress her chest by stooping over her sew^- 
ing. In the dearth of such occupations, intelli- 
gent women do not hesitate to step out of the 
^^ sphere " '^ in which Providence has placed 
them," and interest themselves in science or 
politics, with results more or less mischievous, 
according to the amount of their insight or the 
quality of their education. 

The greatest mistake w4iich a woman can com- 
mit is to suppose that she has 7io influence. In 
addition to that which she possesses as a human 
being, she has a peculiar share as a woman. It 
is her duty to make it of the highest kind. " But,'' 
objects some one, " surely women have no politi- 
cal influence in the United States.^' They cer- 
tainly have ; and no woman can go to Washing- 



DUTIES AND INFLUENCE OF WOMEN. 175 

ton with her eyes open, without seeing that it is 
by no means in the purest hands. To give every 
woman the political influence now possessed by 
a few from base causes is surely a legitimate 
object ; for in that way we should pour the holi- 
est female influences into society, as well as the 
more corrupt. In this connection, we may fitly 
allude to a mistake into which many fall as re- 
gards our proposed reform. 

They assert that we wish to increase the 
amount of feminine influence unduly , and to alter 
its quality ; that is, make it political. This sup- 
poses us to be entirely ignorant of the laws of 
life and character. There is a certain amount 
of female influence in the world, which we can 
no more increase or diminish than we can in- 
crease or diminish the force of gravitation. 
What we wish is to turn public attention to this 
influence, its amount and kind, so that it may be 
respected, acknowledged, and so made responsi- 
hie. We do not want to drive women into politics 
against their will ; but we wish men to accord to 
them civil and political rights as the exponent 
of that respect, that acknowledgment. If women 
are admitted to have a keener moral insight, a 
more unswerving religious intuition, than men ; 
if, on the other hand, it is acknowledged that there 



176 DUTIES AND INFLUENCE OF WOMEN. 

is a moral and religious side to legislation, — 
then woman and legislation seem to stand in as 
natural a relation to each other as the first two 
terms of an equation of which it is only necessary 
to find a third. Every one can see, that, the mo- 
ment a slave is admitted to be a man, civil rights 
will be conferred upon him. In the same manner, 
it follows that the very first result of a national 
conviction of woman's equality will be the con- 
ferring upon her the right to vote. Should she 
never use it, its significance will make it valu- 
able. 

There is another mistake, so stupid that we 
very unwillingly advert to it. There are people 
who fancy that equality means similarity, and 
who are indignant because they deem us to 
assert that men and women are precisely alike. 
If so, why should we ask to have women made 
representatives? We should but augment the 
number and expenses of our National Council, 
without in any way affecting its quality or in- 
fluencing its results. No : we desire that woman 
should enter into public life, because we believe 
that she will supply an element in which man is 
deficient ; and that, without her, legislation can 
never be harmonious or complete. 

Female influence is of many kinds. That 



DUTIES AND INFLUENCE OF WOMEN. 177 

which may be called atmospheric is the most 
generally justified and understood. It is ex- 
ercised when a woman of talent or genius, with- 
out a positive attainment of illustrious reputation 
for herself, stimulates others to attain it; and, 
like Napoleon, perceives at once what every 
bystander is capable of, and requires his utmost 
of him. There have been many such. Lucretia 
Borgia and Renee of France were two opposite 
but remarkable examples of it. They were both 
Duchesses of Ferrara ; but Lucretia stimulated 
the belles-lettres faculties merely. When she 
grew tired of personal excesses, her learned cote- 
ries disputed in such Greek and Latin as they 
could master, and made smooth verses in her 
own and each other's honor.* 



* The opera and the drama do all they can to perpetuate the com- 
mon idea of Lucretia Borgia. It is, however, barely possible, — and, 
when a woman writes history, she should direct attention to the 
fact, — it is possible that hers is one of the names yet to be rescued 
from unmerited obloquy. Sismondi himself says that contemporane- 
ous voices seem to overpower the verdict of common history. The 
Ferrarese historians (Giraldi, Sardi, and Libanori) speak of her as a 
spotless person; but I am unable to determine the value of their tes- 
timony. Caviceo dedicated " II Peregrine " to her. That Ariosto 
should have celebrated her marriage in verse may have been a 
courtly necessity ; but why need he have spoken especially of the 
*' decorum of her manners" ? — why, in the forty-second book of his 
great poem, take pains to say, that in modesty, as well as beauty, she 
rivalled that ancient Lucretia of " spotless fame " ? — a comparison 

12 



178 DUTIES AND INFLUENCE OF WOMEN. 

Renee, a profound thinker and mathematician^ 
educated all the young girls of her court after 
such a sort, that it breathed an austere but holy 
influence over all those who sought it. Brantome 
says, " She denied the power of the popes, and 
refused them her obedience ; but could do no 
more, heing a ivomanJ^ It was at the heart and 
hearth of this princess that the reformed re- 
ligion found in Italy its most generous welcofae. 
Thus, in Ireland, Mrs. Tighe and Mrs. Lefanu 
will be remembered by the intellectual circles 
which clustered round the couches to which in- 
firmity confined them, long after the smooth 
couplets of " Cupid and Psyche " and the " Songs 
of Erin '^ are forgotten. One of the distinguished 
members of the Accademia Eeale di Scienze, at 
the beginning of the present century, was the 
daughter of its founder, — the Countess Diodata 
Roero Saluzzo. Long after her five volumes of 
poetry, her two tragedies, and her popular novel 
of ^^ Gaspara Stampa,'' had had their due efiect 
upon the Piedmontese public, she exerted a 
noble influence over both foreigners and country- 



which, if not justified by the facts, was nothing but the severest 
satire. We must, however, admit that it is at all times extremely 
difficult to ascertain the precise value of Italian laudation. 



DUTIES AND INFLUENCE OF WOMEN. 179 

men from the bed of pain to which she was 
confined, and by which she is still remembered. 
Suffering could not dim the brilliancy of her 
conversation, nor paralyze the activity of her 
acute and eager speculation. 

At Paris, about thirty years ago, the Princess 
Jablonowska, a patriotic Polish woman, imbued 
the society about her with a warmth of interest 
in her native land, which ought to have insured 
its restoration to independence. In Florence, at 
the same time, their royal highnesses of Wirtem- 
biirg assembled a petty court of distinguished 
persons ; and the duchess, it is said, recalled by 
her brilliant vivacity the best days of female wit 
in France. ^^ Her information was extensive; 
and she showed a feeling and vivacity, which 
rendered the crime ofknoioledge pardonable in a 
pretty woman. '^ 

So, at Padua, the Greek genius of the Countess 
Albrizzi, the original of Baron Denon's celebrated 
portrait, secured for her a brilHant position ; and 
the stinging wit of Alfieri's sister gave her a 
right so popular and well sustained to the name 
of " La Vespa,'' ^ that no one troubles himself 



* " The Wasp." 



180 DUTIES AND INFLUENCE OF WOMEN. 

now-a-days to ascertain that which might have 
been given her at the font. 

But our own country has offered two of the 
most remarkable examples of the excess and de- 
ficiency of this sort of influence. We speak of 
two persons whom we love when we name Mar- 
garet Fuller and Elizabeth Peabody. No women 
of moderate powers, deficient in self-assertion, 
ever approached Margaret at one period of her 
life, without feeling humiliated and repressed. 
They felt misunderstood, and half inclined to 
doubt their own worthiness. Let no eager friend 
rise up here to call us to judgment. When once 
acknowledged by her, her presence became a 
noble stimulus indeed, but never before. 

With Elizabeth Peabody how different it was ! 
No one ever approached her without feeling his 
most able points intuitively seized and drawn 
out ; no one ever left her without having risen 
in his own self-respect and hers : and radiant as 
summer sunlight in our memory is the beautiful 
smile of appreciation with which she welcomed 
the struggling, half- delivered thought. When 
she dies, she will leave behind the results of 
much generous culture, profound research, and 
Oriental learning; but she can bequeathe no lega- 
cy to her country one-half so valuable as the sti- 



DUTIES AND INFLUENCE OF WOMEN. 181 

mulus she has imparted to all who have come in 
contact with her. 

There is an influence exerted by enthusiastic 
and passionate genius without education. 

Such, in this century, was the influence of the 
celebrated improvvisatrice La Signora Bandel- 
letta of Parma, whose tones, modulated by na- 
tive feeling, bore the souls of her audience up 
and on, lightly and certainly, as autumn winds 
lift the tender down of the thistle. 

Such, too, was the influence of the modern 
Gorilla, whose crowning may have suggested 
that of Madame de StaePs Corinne. A peasant 
girl of Pistoja, her passionate poetic faculty 
attracted the attention of some gentlemen, who 
sent her to school at Florence. The Marchese 
Ginori, her lover, was not the only man who 
prostrated himself before her. When his vanity 
induced him to carry her to Rome, an enamoured 
faction procured for her the honor of being 
crowned in the Capitol. The most celebrated 
improvvisatrice of her time, it is wonderful, that 
when the marquis, compelled by his rank to 
marry, settled upon Gorilla a handsome income, 
she retired to the Strada Forche, and lived until 
her death, in 1798, ^-without reproach.'^ The 



182 DUTIES AND INFLUENCE OF WOMEN. 

admiring General MiolliS; of the French Army, 
placed above her door, where it may still be 
seen, this inscription: — 



" Qui abito Corillo in seccolo, 
Decimo nono." 



He should have written " Diciotto/' To exert 
an influence like this, real merit is not neces- 
sary. It seems to be a matter of temperament 
or of vital magnetism, — a force of the blood, 
more even than that of passion. 

Diff*erent from either of these, because the 
person is here forgotten in the pursuit, is the 
purely literary influence of women. For this, 
taste and liberality are essential, but not original 
faculty. Thus, in the present century, such 
persons as the Duchess of Devonshire, Signora 
Dionigi (the author of an erudite work on Ro- 
man antiquities, illustrated by her own exquisite 
pencil), the Marchesa Sacrat^ (whose learning 
never overloaded her easy, graceful talk), and 
the Countess Perticari, the daughter of the poet 
Monti, diff'used this influence throughout a dis- 
tinguished circle at Rome. 

Although the French began the excavation of 
the column of Phocas, the completion of it, and 
the discovery of many facts of its history, are 



DUTIES AND INFLUENCE OF WOMEN. 183 

due to the Duchess of Devonshire. She has 
also edited ^^ Horace^s Journey to Brundusium/' 
with engravings of every site he mentions ; and 
a magnificent edition of Virgil. Both were 
undertaken at her own expense ; and we have 
heard somewhere that the last was illustrated 
from her own designs. Signora Dionigi had a 
daughter who was a remarkable improvvisatrice, 
and whose talents greatly contributed to the 
celebrity of her re-unions. The Countess Per- 
ticari is especially distinguished for the beauty 
of some " Songs to the Rose." 

Another sort of influence, frequently of the 
worst kind, and almost always blended with 
political, is that of women over their lovers. 
Let no one dare to call it the influence of love. 

Thus, when Cardinal de Retz visited Rome, 
he was obliged to propitiate the infamous Donna 
Olympia Maldachini, mistress of Innocent the 
Tenth, before he could procure access to that 
pontiff. This woman was the sister-in-law of 
the pope. Her portrait is still preserved in the 
Villa Pamfili Doria. The fierce, brow-beating 
aspect of the picture adds weight to the report, 
that she kept the whole conclave of cardinals in 
order, and poisoned the soup of Cardinal Patilla. 



184 DUTIES AND INFLUENCE OF WOMEN. 

A room in the villa is still called the cabinet of 
Donna Olympia ; and, when Lady Morgan visited 
Italy, she was presented with a red feather from 
the tippet "come della reliquia'' of one whom 
we should think it the highest privilege of a 
pure-minded woman to forget. When remon- 
strances were offered to the pope on this subject, 
he could only reply, " Eemediaremo, remedia- 
remo.'^ 

Thus Madame Pompadour effected at Babiole 
the unfortunate marriage of Marie Antoinette 
with Louis XVL, and dared to teach her royal 
lover to call the " respectable '' Marie Theresa 
" pious,'' at the very moment when the wily 
empress was addressing herself as " Ma prin- 
cesse et cousine ! '' 

Thus the Marchesa de Prie held Alfieri in a 
" bizarro et tormentissimo state.'' Nor need w^e 
ask what sort of influence hers was, when we 
learn, that, under the cushions of an old green- 
satin sofa in her room, his " Cleopatra " remained 
unknown and forgotten by its author for more 
than a year. Far different was the influence of 
her who was released by death from the gall- 
ing chains which bound her to the Pretender 
only to become the bride of the poet. Of 
her, — Louisa, Princess of Stolberg and Coun- 



DUTIES AND INFLUENCE OF WOMEN. 185 

tess of Albany, — Alfieri wrote that noble epi- 
taph : — 

" Senza la quella, non avrei mai fatto, nulla dl buono." 

Her life will form a most romantic chapter in 
some future history of Woman. 

When the forts of Naples were surrendered, 
on the capitulation, to Ruffo, Micheroux, and 
the Turkish and English commanders, it was the 
atrocious Lady Hamilton who induced Nelson 
to violate that solemn treaty, and, in restoring 
the king to Naples, avenge her upon the per- 
sonal enemies whom her improper intimacy with 
the queen and her low-born favorite Acton had 
created. That this woman invented the shawl 
dance is reason enough why every modest girl 
should shrink from it. That she published the 
private letters of Nelson, and so threw a merited 
stain upon his memory, adds little to such infamy 
as hers."^ 

* At the very moment when these papers are preparing for the 
press, what may be called a " Defence of Lady Hamilton " appears 
in " Blackwood's Magazine." It is almost impossible to do justice 
to a life so recent as that of Lady Hamilton ; it is entirely impos- 
sible to do justice to the mistress, Platonic or otherwise, of a nation's 
idol: the name of Nelson, blunts the critic's style, or dips it in 
gall, as the case may be. It is possible that Lady Hamilton's 
death, unfriended by the nation which owed her a heavy political 
debt; that the neglect into which Nelson's own daughter was per- 
mitted to fall, — were indeed instances of such ingratitude as we 



186 DUTIES AND INFLUENCE OF WOMEN. 

When, after the French Revolution, a terrible 
re-action took place in Florence, the little town 
of Arezzo, renowned for its bigotry, was sup- 
posed capable of supplying material to aid the 
Austrian party. A madonna was made to w^ork 
a miracle, to rouse the populace against Protes- 
tants and Republicans. A ferocious mob rushed 
on to Florence with the most sanguinary de- 
signs. There was no end to the horrors that 
followed. At Siena, seventeen persons, includ- 
ing an infant at the breast, were burned alive. 
Who, think you, led that infuriate crowd in 
behalf of Austria and the Madonna? No one 
but the English minister ; led, in his turn, by a 
frail and beautiful mistress, dressed as an Ama- 
zon, and supported by a monk ! This woman 
was subsequently created a baroness of the 
German Empire for having doyie the State some 
service ! 

There remain two distinct sorts of female 
influence to be considered, — the purely politi- 



are apt to associate with courts and camps. It is possible, also, that 
they were instances of that divine retribution which is permitted 
only too often to fall on the " children's children." 

Happy shall I be to see the stain wiped from the name of Lady 
Hamilton; but I dare not set aside a nation's verdict in a matter 
with which persoutd and political feeling have still so much to do. 



DUTIES AND INFLUENCE OF WOMEN. 187 

cal and the educational ; but since the errors 
of rulers spring oftener from a bad education 
than a depraved nature, and good rulers always 
do their utmost to establish seminaries, these 
two sorts frequently cross each other on the 
page of history, and perplex the record. 

Had Bonaparte retained possession of Flo- 
rence, he had intended to establish there noble 
seminaries for female education, as at Naples 
and Milan. Meanwhile, he permitted three cor- 
rupt convents to remain. Perhaps thinkers may 
discover in this a reason why, in 1820, a Floren- 
tine mother was not ashamed to enter a public 
assembly between an innocent young daughter 
and her own ^^ cavaliere servente ; '^ why vac- 
cination was still termed ^^ a flying in the face of 
God,'' and the rejection of swaddling bands pro- 
nounced ^^ impious.'' To this day, the mention 
of the Bonaparte name excites enthusiasm in 
Italy. All the family had a genius for reigning. 
When Elise, the emperor's oldest sister, removed 
from Lucca, where she had displayed an energy 
worthy of Napoleon, she presided over the court 
of Florence, with the title of Governante. In 
Lucca, she had encouraged manufactures, con- 
structed roads, drained marshes, and colonized 
the desert wastes of Piombino ; but she had an 



188 DUTIES AND INFLUENCE OF WOMEN. 

oligarchy to oppose, and was then as little ap- 
preciated as she has been since deeply regret- 
ted. In Florence, she could accomplish little 
more than the presiding over a frivolous court, 
as she was in a great measure under the control 
of the prefect. 

The events of Madame Murat's reign at Naples 
are well known. As soon as they heard of the 
reverses of the French, the lazzaroni attempted 
to revolt. No military force had been left to 
guard the city ; and the aristocracy acknow- 
ledged that they owed their safety to the sister 
of Napoleon, who, with an energy worthy of 
her brother, assembled the National Guard, 
and, assuming their uniform, addressed them in 
a speech full of spirit and eloquence. She re- 
mained on horseback the whole day ; and, 
visiting every post, assured herself of the vigi- 
lance of the authorities, until the hour when 
the approach of the Austrians compelled her to 
capitulate with Captain Campbell of the " Tre- 
mendous." Her life was in danger to the last 
moment; and the infuriated populace followed 
her to the ship's side with oaths and menaces. 
What think you were her last words to the 
grateful Neapolitans who accompanied her to 
the frigate ? This woman, full of sagacity and 



DUTIES AND INFLUENCE OF WOMEN. 189 

good sense, as capable of leading an army as 
of repressing an insurrection, — what were her 
last words to her people ? With the aid of the 
Archbishop of Tarentum, she had established 
the Pensionnar dei Miracoli, — a magnificent 
school for girls. When she stood on the deck 
of the vessel, she cried, "Watch over the Mira- 
coli ; preserve my school ! '' 

Bonaparte felt and said that a body of well- 
educated women could alone raise society from 
that gulf of immorality into which the old 
governments had plunged it. This school of 
Madame Murat^s was established on the same 
principle as the Imperial Pensionnar at Milan. 
No Italian lady could be found at once qualified 
and willing to take charge of this establishment, 
and the Baroness de Lor was brought from Paris 
for the purpose. The accommodations for the 
children were magnificent. The class-rooms 
opened into gardens and orange -groves ; the 
dressing-rooms were supplied with fountains of 
pure water ; warm and cold baths were attached 
to the hospital. The dormitories were spacious, 
and the play-rooms gently heated. The diet 
was generous and good. The instruction in 
languages, the arts and sciences, and belles- 
lettres, was more liberal than any American 



190 DUTIES AND INFLUENCE OF WOMEN. 

institution can boast ; and, in addition, the chil- 
dren were taught to mend stockings, cut cloth- 
ing, and cook well : every thing, in short, which 
could make them what Bonaparte emphatically 
wished, — "bonnes meres de famille.'^ 

Ah ! women have much reason to be grateful 
to Bonaparte. He banished Madame de Stael 
because he knew her worth. He, of all sove- 
reigns, has best understood of what women are 
capable. 

The Due de Melzi was the originator of the 
similar Pensionnar at Lodi. He entreated the 
aid of the accomplished Maria Cosway. She was 
the widow of Richard Cosway, a man famous for 
exquisite miniatures, oil-paintings, and sketches ; 
who believed in animal magnetism and Sweden- 
borg ; and who, although confessedly the idol of 
a fashionable public for sixty years, was not 
gifted enough to eclipse his wife. The school 
which she established is still thought one of the 
best in Europe. On returning to their homes, 
at the age of fourteen, the pupils are prepared 
to manage a family, and keep its accounts. 

We are giving proofs that women are often 
accidently invested with political power, and 
that, therefore, they should be prepared for its 
wise exercise. In royal families, the contingency 



DUTIES AND INFLUENCE OF WOMEN. 191 

is, of course, expected ; but it is seldom fitly met. 
The Duchess of Kent, who had to contend with 
a scrofulous temperament and an hereditary un- 
soundness of mind, formed a noble exception to 
the majority of royal mothers. The children of 
Maria Theresa formed unfortunate examples 
of the results of a very difierent training. Con- 
suelo was not far wrong when she called Maria 
Theresa " an old gossip.'^ Celebrated as her 
reign has been, she actually did nothing to de- 
serve the reverence in which posterity has held 
her. She was like a thousand bustling, busy, 
and ambitious mothers of families, who make a 
great rout and talk about their housekeeping, 
and, after all, only keep things in very good 
order. Sentimental French writers tell us, that, 
oppressed by the sight of a suffering family, she 
gave them her dinner, and ^^ nourished herself 
with the tears that she shed.^' In the same 
year, she assisted at the partition of Poland; 
and the ^' "Wild Irish Girl '^ says, wittily enough, 
^^ that the tears which she thus caused might 
have fed her for the rest of her life.'' She was 
beautiful, ambitious, selfish, parsimonious, and 
absolute. That made her a prosperous queen 
which would have made her a hateful woman. 
But of what kind was the prosperity ? and was 



192 DUTIES AND INFLUENCE OF WOMEN. 

her intriguing skill adequate to the training of 
monarchs? The prosperity was external, and 
her children were Marie Antoinette, Caroline of 
Austria, and Marie Christine. The empress re- 
duced her husband to a state of vassalage, and, 
to her dying day, treated her sons as enemies. 
There is such a thing as educating by antago- 
nism; which is the reason, perhaps, that the 
imperial sons proved more worthy than the 
daughters. When Francis heard of his wife's 
disgraceful alliance with Madame de Pompa- 
dour, he walked indignantly out of council ; and 
when Joseph asked, " Mother, what good faith 
can you find in France ? '' he was banished from 
her presence. Joseph died of a broken heart, 
unable to accomplish the reforms which his 
mother's necessities compelled her too late to 
begin ; and Leopold was recalled from Tuscany, 
where he was doing an immense good, and com- 
pelled to govern a people who had lost their 
liberties so long since, that they dreaded their 
restoration after the present despotic fashion. 

The painful history of Marie Antoinette, who 
sacrificed the lives and freedom of her family 
to the preservation of a dressing-case, is well 
known. Caroline of Austria, Queen of Naples, 
is never mentioned in that unfortunate city. 



DUTIES AND INFLUENCE OF WOMEN. 193 

without a shudder. She kept her husband under 
so degrading an espionage, that he was obhged 
to return a borrowed volume of Yoltaire unread. 
She sacrificed her honor and her modest}^ to 
her passion for a handsome adventurer, — John 
Acton, the son of an English physician in the 
south of Prance, — whose power over her seems 
to have grown out of his insensibility to her 
charms. She was the intimate friend of the 
licentious Lady Hamilton. She had all her 
mother's faults, and none of her virtues. She 
was so dishonest as to levy a tax of three hun- 
dred thousand ducats to open roads ; and, after 
a distressed people had hopefully paid it, to 
pocket at once the money and her promise. 
Marie Christine, the Governess of the Low 
Countries, is said to have been an infamous 
woman ; but the lives of these persons are too 
recent, and they are themselves too nearly re- 
lated to the royal families of England, France, 
and Austria, for us to be able as yet to judge 
them truly. The gossip of the countries that 
they have misgoverned is our chief source of 
information. 

Among female sovereigns of the present cen- 
tury, utterly deficient in a righteous sense of 
responsibility, Beatrice d'Este, Archduchess of 

13 



194 DUTIES AND INFLUENCE OF WOMEN. 

Modena, and the Queen of Etruria, once Duchess 
of Parma, may be mentioned. They did their 
utmost to crush the popular interest. 

Among such as possessed naturally kind hearts 
and good capacities, but who were prevented 
by a bad education from doing justice to either, 
Caroline of Brunswick stands pre-eminent. We 
do not know whether her infidelity is considered 
an historical fact. It is certain that the aristo- 
cracy of England believed in her guilt, though 
some of them defended her on the ground that 
her licentious husband had no right to complain 
of so natural a result of his own bad conduct. 
Her easy accessibility and cheerful good-will won 
the hearts of the people, who always earnestly 
defended her. Even Sir James Mackintosh ac- 
know^ledged a ^* friendly partiality '' for her. 
Whatever she may have been in England, she 
sought in her foreign residence, on the borders 
of Lake Como, to forget her trials in works of 
taste, utility, and beneficence. A plain tablet 
still informs the traveller, that to her he owes 
the magnificent road which skirts the lake, the 
first ever opened for purposes of business or 
pleasure. Here she did much good, and gained 
much popularity. Her palace is still show^n to 
strangers. 



DUTIES AND INFLUENCE OF WOMEN. 195 

The common argument used by those who 
think that they feel a just horror of conferring 
political rights upon women is like that so often 
urged against the immediate emancipation of ne- 
gro slaves. They are not fit for power ^ nor can 
they be made so. Universal confusion would 
follow such a step. Yet, under many govern- 
ments, women have possessed these rights and 
this power; and so little confusion has resulted, 
that most persons are ignorant of the fact. 

When Leopold became Grand Duke of Tus- 
cany, in 1765, he established a government of 
communes, which, it is believed, he intended 
should pave the way to representative govern- 
ment. Under this, women had a civil capacity, 
and could become magistrates. Under it, one 
Signora Ricci was made treasurer of her com- 
mune. In Upper Canada, women vote upon 
questions relating to schools, upon the same 
conditions as men; that is, a certain property 
qualification. 

There is certainly no justice in demanding 
of women political penalties and the payment of 
taxes, if men do not grant them the power the 
first is intended to crush, the second to repre- 
sent. Women are hung for treason, tortured 
for testimony, impoverished for the State. ^' Not 



196 DUTIES AND INFLUENCE OF WOMEN. 

since the dark ages/' objects some one. Yes, 
now, — in the nineteenth century ; in France 
and Austria many times, in Italy still more often. 
After the restoration of the royal family, brought 
about by Lady Hamilton, at Naples, all who had 
shown any attachment to the republic were 
condemned to death. Under this act, Madame 
San Felice was sent to the scaffold. She had 
revealed a royalist conspiracy, and so prevented 
a massacre. 

Eleonora Pimentale was a young girl, cele- 
brated for her talents, her graces, and her pa- 
triotism. She was accused of having written 
some patriotic effusions in the " Monitore Napo- 
litano,'' and condemned to die. She met her fate 
with courage and heroism. She took coffee, we 
are told, a few minutes before she ascended the 
scaffold ; and said with a smile, to those who 
risked their lives by showing sympathy for her 
fate, — 

" Forsan et hasc, olim meminisse juvabit." 

It was not the bigoted cruelty nor the weak 
irresolution of the wicked woman, whom the 
admiring Romney fitly painted as a bacchante, 
that brought about these executions, but what 
the Neapolitans expressively call "la vilta" of 



DUTIES AND INFLUENCE OF WOMEN. 197 

Nelson, the British lion. Had that '^ chamber- 
maid of a lady of rank'' been educated at a 
common school, and taught to think it possible 
that she should one day possess political power, 
and be responsible to God for its right exercise, 
— then the mistress of the admiral, had she ever 
existed, must assuredly have stimulated her lover 
to a generoiLS policy and a noUe warfare, and 
felt a just pride in keeping Britannia's flag un- 
stained. 

In the examples of feminine influence that we 
have ofi'ered, we do not mean to assert that any 
woman exerts only one hind. In every woman, 
many kinds are mingled; but one is generally 
pre-eminent. 



IX. 

MARIE CUNITZ. 



*' 'Tis order woman seeketh." — Goethe. 



"VTEARLY a hundred years before the birth of 
■^ ^ Maria Agnesi, in the beginning of the seven- 
teenth century, at Schweidnitz in Silesia, Marie 
Cunitz was born. Her name occurs naturally 
in connection with that of Agnesi, because it 
was to a similar class of subjects that she de- 
voted herself In her early years, she was dis- 
tinguished for her proficiency in the languages, 
both ancient and modern ; in history, medicine, 
and mathematics. She finally devoted herself 
to astrology and astronomy ; the first of these 
being considered at that period as worthy to 
engross a noble mind as the last. About the 
year 1630, she married, after the death of her 
father, a Silesian gentleman named Loewen, who 
had been her principal instructor in astronomy. 
He seems to have been very proud of her ; and 



MARIE CUNITZ. 199 

they continued their studies together. Previous 
to their marriage, both had made use of the Da- 
nish tables of Longomontanus ; but they soon 
perceived that these tables did not correspond 
with the results of their own observations. Four 
years before, John Kepler had published his 
famous Rodolphine tables at Ulm. They were 
so called in honor of his friend, the reigning 
Emperor Rodolph ; and formed the foundation of 
all astronomical calculations for more than a cen- 
tury. Marie and her husband found these tables 
more exact ; but their use was cumbersome. 
They were obliged to employ logarithms, which 
must, in their turn, be corrected. They then re- 
solved to give up the use of Danish tables, and 
devote some time to making those of Kepler 
more simple and convenient. This work was 
already begun, when the Thirty Years' War 
forced them to quit Schweidnitz, and take refuge 
in Poland. Mademoiselle Cunitz, as she was still 
called in spite of her marriage, was kindly re- 
ceived by the nuns of a convent ; and in this 
quiet home her mathematical labors were com- 
pleted. In 1650, ^^ Urania Propitia, sive Tabulae 
Astronomicee,'' &c,, was reprinted at Oels in Si- 
lesia; and, in 1651, it was printed at Frankfort. 
It was dedicated to the emperor, Ferdinand III., 



200 MARIE CUNITZ. 

by her husband Loewen, and prefaced by intro- 
ductions in Latin and German. He takes pride in 
telling the reader that the work is entirely by his 
wife ; his duty having been only to prepare it for 
the press. On her side, she quotes the results of 
her husband^s astronomical labors, and promises 
to bring forward others. She frequently criti- 
cizes the tables of Lansberg, whom she reproach- 
es with a want of candor in asserting that they 
were conformed to the observations of all time. 

Wolf, in his ^^ Elements of Mathematics,'' speaks 
with praise of these tables. Lord Brougham, 
after remarking that this work is only an at- 
tempt to simplify Kepler's methods and avoid 
the use of logarithms, says that it is more re- 
markable from the fact that the writer was a 
woman than from any particular merit. This 
is perhaps true ; but we have been surprised, 
throughout our late researches, to discover how 
often it falls to the lot of women to simplify and 
make useful the results of abstruse labor on the 
part of men. Women have, when eqully well 
educated and intelligent, a better mental per- 
spective than men, and a clearer perception of 
relations. Goethe recognizes this when he says 
in his " Torquato Tasso," — 

" 'lis order woman seeketh; freedom, man.'* 



MARIE CUNITZ. 201 

From the same cause, it happens that several 
intelligent women have been heard to say, that 
they would like to rewrite the " Cosmos '' of 
Humboldt. 

Presumptuous as such a remark might seem to 
a thoughtless hearer, it meant merely, that, pos- 
sessed of Humboldt^s wide observations, pleasant 
facts, and wise deductions, they could arrange 
them so that they would be more generally at- 
tractive, while their individual and collective 
value would be proportionately increased. Wo- 
men are also more patient, thorough, and obser- 
vant of small facts, than men. It is said, that, 
before Maria Mitchell used a telescope, certain 
observations in relation to the positions of the 
heavenly bodies were made only once in four 
hours. A common process of arithmetical divi- 
sion decided where the star must stand at the 
close of the first, second, and third hour: but 
Miss Mitchell chose to direct her glass to the 
sky, not only every hour, but every half -hour ; 
and she found that the actual positions did not 
correspond in the least to those which had been 
assumed. In such " small service/' women may 
yet do the best part and the worthiest of the 
world's work. 

We well remember, when a schoolgirl, to have 



202 MARIE CUNITZ. 

seen a distinguished mathematician solve a diffi- 
cult question for his puzzled class by dashing 
three abbreviated equations across the college 
black-board. The unfortunate students might 
as well have been treated to three lines of 
Arabic. They stood in blank dismay before the 
sprawling lines ; and then one, more venture- 
some than the rest, suggested in a low voice, 
that a certain " Miss Mary '' in the neighborhood 
might be able to supply the missing members. 
A shout of indignation welcomed this hint of 
the presumptive bachelor of arts. "A woman ! — 
no, indeed ! '' But the recitation-hour drew fear- 
fully near ; and one lad, who had been working 
hard to help himself, and felt a right to be above 
false shame, exclaimed, as he tossed his cap in 
air, '^ Hurrah for Miss Mary ! " and, without a 
word, started in search of her. 

His companions followed, more for the sake 
of the fun than in the hope of relief. 

Miss Mary, a timid, quiet-looking girl of eigh- 
teen, was teaching half a dozen little girls to 
read ; when she looked up at her darkened case- 
ments, and found her larkspurs and ladsMove in 
imminent danger from the newly arrived depu- 
tation. In some consternation, she went to the 
door ; when he who cried ^^ Hurrah for Miss 



MARIE CUXITZ. 203 

Mary ! " somewhat uncivilly pushed a slate be- 
fore her face, sayings " We want to know how 
the professor gets those." 

The color came and went ; for Mary, although 
well used to this lack of courtesy, could never 
cease to feel it. She did not ask to see the 
question: she detected instantly the relation 
between the three equations ; and, drawing a 
folded porcelain slate from her pocket, she wrote 
out clearly thirty-six equations in their natural 
succession, and handed them back to the as- 
tonished boy. 

^^ There," said she, '^ you will understand 
those : if you don't, one of you can come back. 
Now shut the garden-gate, and don't crush my 
lavender." — ^' Thank you. Miss Mary," said the 
boy, as his quick eye glanced down the slate : 
" you're something better than a genius." 

That day the professor w^as in high good- 
humor; and when he inquired the cause of a 
bonfire which the boys built in the neighbor- 
hood of Miss Mary's lavender that night, in 
honor of what they called her " shining light," 
he remarked substantially, that her wonderful 
performance on the slate " was nothing more 
than an attempt to simplify his method, and only 
remarkable because a woman did it." 



204 MARIE CUNITZ. 

That may have been, Herr Professor ; but it 
was what was necessary, and what you could not 
or would not do : so, if we had been in your 
place, we should have refused to take the credit 
of the next examination. 

This little excursion from our subject is only 
a commentary on Lord Brougham's criticism 
on the "Urania Propitia.'^ Whatever were its 
merits, it went through two editions at a time 
when Kepler's genius was rousing a new interest 
in the subject of astronomy, and continued to be 
spoken of favorably by those who had occasion 
to use it. Marie's biographers give her credit 
for wonderful general culture ; but this is her 
only published work. 

The celebrated controversialist, Gisbert Voet, 
mentions Marie, in a volume of his " Politica 
Ecclesiastica," published in 1669, as still alive. 
Lalande says that she died at Pitschen, in Silesia, 
on the 22d of August, 1664 ; which was probably 
the fact. 

Voet began to publish his great work in 1663. 
The sentence was very likely written while she 
was living, and printed after her death. Des- 
vignolles has given the most minute account of 
her, and one which, very unfortunately, we have 
been unable to procure. It is in the third vo- 



MARIE CUNITZ. 205 

lume of the '' Bibliotheque Germanique.'^ A 
recent writer observes, that although her book 
has been little regarded of late, yet many dis- 
tinguished writers have made use of her sug- 
gestions, without acknowledgment. From such 
experience as we have had, we think this very 
hkely to be true. Perhaps it is not more true 
of the works of women than of those of men. 
All knowledge belongs to all men ; and day by 
day they seize it as their rightful possession, 
their legitimate inheritance. Less and less do 
they feel their obligations to the individual 
whose labor or whose insight has brought it 
within their grasp. And for the individual, if 
he reads the signs of God's providence truly, he 
will be willing to work like the great Master, with- 
out recognition. He will feel, that, in serving 
all, he best serves himself. He will know in his 
own heart, that the gifts which permit the labor 
or develop the insight are beyond his own power, 
and come from the Infinite Source of all, as the 
light from the sun, or the growth to the plant. 
God gave them, he will remember, that he might 
work for his brothers; and, satisfied to have 
been so commissioned from on high, he will not 
pause to grieve because his agency is not recog- 
nized below. 



206 MARIE CUXITZ. 

Could we but realize the blessedness of being 
so commissioned, none of us need strive in vain. 
The heavenly work will be taken up, just where 
the earthly has been dropped ; and the forces of 
the soul will not depend upon the forces of the 
intellect alone, but on the use of those forces by 
the soul herself, and the sanctifying of them to 
everlasting ends. Men may possess themselves 
of what we have acquired, without one grateful 
thought; but the strength born of acquiring, no 
human wit can wile away from us. The joy of 
clear perception and keen insight belongs only 
to the worker, never to an indolent receiver. 
The latter gains only what he works for, and 
must use what the worker has gained before he 
can even give him thanks for it. 



X. 

MADAME DE STAEL. 



"Quelques souvenirs du coeur, quelques noms de femmes, reclament aussi 
vos pleurs.*' — CoRmNE. 



'' AVTHAT have women to do with politics ? '' 
is a question which has a singular perti- 
nence at the present day. Men ask it, wherever 
they find women waiting on the thresholds of 
prisons or alms-houses, when philanthropy in- 
quires after their insane, or when justice inveighs 
against a fugitive-slave law. ^^ What have wo- 
men to do with politics?'^ Let them repeat the 
question as often as they like : but let them 
turn rather to the English hustings, where wo- 
men, uneducated to perceive the higher relations 
of party questions, throw all their weight and 
wealth, ay, all the eloquence which great men 
have pronounced " irresistible,'' on the side of a 
temporary success, for lover, child, or friend ; or 

to France, where the vile mistress of a prince 

better educated than most princes, since he was 



208 MADAME DE STAEL. 

taught how to live without a throne — became 
so active an agent of political cliques, that a 
government vessel was not long ago deputed to 
bring her to our own shores. With still sadder 
faces, let them turn to Washington, where women 
sell the votes that their own baseness brings 
within their power, and feminine manoeuvring 
and dishonor accomplish that for which all the 
strength of manly life has been found insuffi- 
cient. 

In such connection, the name of one woman 
at least rises to the mind, who justified, by the 
use she made of it, the possession of the widest 
political power. It is impossible to do justice 
to her life within the compass of an essay. It 
might well repay the study and admiration of 
years. It was not without a profound meaning 
that the ancients represented Love, Wisdom, 
Justice, and Productive Energy, under feminine 
forms ; but it is seldom that the varied faculties 
of the human soul, developed through the pro- 
foundest apprehension of Nature, Poetry, and 
Art, are exhibited in a single human being as 
they were in Anna Louisa Germaine Necker, 
Baronne de Stael-Holstein. It has been said 
that distinguished women generally owe their 
mental power to the influence of fathers who 



MADAME DE STAEL. 209 

have no sons, or who are induced through pecu- 
liar sympathy to bestow unusual pains upon their 
culture. Napoleon always asked of a great man, 
'^ Who was his mother?" In view of such con- 
siderations, we may better understand the many- 
sidedness of Madame de Stael by dwelling for 
a space upon the character of her parents. 

James Necker (her father) and Susanna Cur- 
chod (her mother) were both Swiss. Her father 
rose rapidly, through banking, and commerce 
with the East Indies, to a position of great emi- 
nence. He has been considered unequal to the 
emergencies of the time in which he lived. 
That he was so, may be only one proof that he 
was too truly wise and well-balanced to satisfy 
either party ; and, when we hear people complain 
of his inflated style, it will be safe to ask whether 
this may not be an English criticism on French 
rhetoric. In his own time, he had one great 
merit, — that of making lucid expositions of 
finance intelligible to the common people. This 
made him director of the treasury to Louis Six- 
teenth. In a moment of confusion, he was 
banished from Paris. All France was in a fer- 
ment at the news, and the storming of the Bas- 
tille procured his immediate recall. Necker's 
return to Paris was a triumphal procession. 

14 



210 MADAME DE STAEL. 

When he finally retired in 1790, it was not as 
an unsuccessful statesman. 

Madame Necker was the daughter of a Swiss 
clergyman, and the only woman ever beloved, 
we believe, by Gibbon the historian. He might 
scoff at revealed religion ; but he could not de- 
spise the graces of mind and heart which were 
developed by its influence. She had a classical 
education ; and some men may be interested to 
know, that she was, in spite of itj an admirable 
and affectionate mother, wife, and friend. How 
widely she thought, may be considered from the 
titles of her works, which considered alike the 
profound subject of ^^ Divorce,'' the ^^ Establish- 
ment of Hospitals," and the ^^ Burial of the 
Dead." How tenderly she felt, was shown by the 
use which she made of her prosperity; minister- 
ing to the wants of others, distributing her great 
resources, and visiting herself the sick and poor. 
That her husband dearly loved her is not the 
only tribute to her worth. He showed his own 
unfitness for the possession of such a woman by 
forbidding her to write, because he did not like 
the uncomfortable feeling of seeming to inter- 
rupt important avocations when he entered her 
apartment. Of such profound selfishness, there 
are, alas ! only too many examples. 



MADAME DE STAEL. 211 

To such parents, Anna Louisa was born, at 
Paris, in the April of 1766. Her mother, fond 
of metaphysics and somewhat harsh in manners, 
at first directed her studies ; but the ambition 
of the young girl outstripped the urgency of 
her teachers, and her physicians were compelled 
to prohibit her books. In the livelier disposi- 
tion and varied gifts of her father, she found, at 
this time, a pleasant resource. In his salon 
assembled all that was distinguished in Paris at 
that time, and the society of eminent persons 
developed her astonishing conversational talent. 
Here she learned to contend in argument, and 
to offer ingenious, brilHant, and striking theo- 
ries to the consideration of those about her. 
Some great men have been said to be poor 
talkers because they saved their great thoughts 
for their published works. No such paucity 
of resources afflicted Mademoiselle Necker ; and 
thoughts of value, on art, religion, letters, and 
society, poured in a sparkling stream from her 
youthful lips. Her love and reverence for her 
father were intense ; and, fearing that he would 
prohibit her as well as her mother from writing, 
she learned to control her impatience with sin- 
gular sweetness, and accustomed herself to write 
standing, that she might not seem to be inter- 
rupted by his approach. 



212 MADAME DE STAEL. 

When he published his account of the French 
finances in 1781, this girl of fifteen reviewed it 
in an anonymous letter ; and, in the same year, 
Raynal asked her to furnish an essay on the 
Revocation of the Edict of Nantes for the vo- 
lumes he was publishing on the commerce of 
the Indies. At the age of twenty, she was mar- 
ried to the Baron de Stael. If she loved any 
one at that time, it was the Viscount de Montmo- 
renci, to whom she remained tenderly attached 
till the close of her life. She married the baron 
because he offered her a position of rank and 
independence, and because he was a Protestant ; 
Necker being naturally unwilling that his im- 
mense wealth shouM pass into the hands of 
a Catholic. If she failed here in the duty of a 
noble woman, let us acknowledge that she atoned 
for it by remaining faithful to her vows. Her 
presentation at court naturally followed her mar- 
riage to an ambassador ; and though the court 
ladies, envious of her high reputation, did their 
utmost, they could say nothing worse than that 
the bonnet which etiquette required her to 
wear was sometimes tied awry. During her 
long life, the breath of scandal never touched 
her ; unless when, for a moment, the rush of 
English gossip confounded her with Madame de 



MADAME DE STAEL. 21 



Q 



Genlis. The cloud soon passed. Gifted as she 
was, longing to love and be beloved with all the 
intensity of a passionate nature, she yet remained 
irreproachable. 

After the Revolution of 1789, she gave her 
influence to the Directory ; and, being deeply 
impressed with the superiority of the English 
Government, longed for the establishment of a 
limited monarchy in France. ^^ But, alas ! '' she 
said in prophetic anguish, ^^ it is only through 
a military despotism that France can arrive at 
such a result.'^ After the accession of Robes- 
pierre, she remained in Paris, where she saved 
many of his victims, often at the risk of her own 
life. There, too, she published a noble ^^ Defence 
of the Queen.'' That queen, too frivolous, and 
fond of admiration, to comprehend the young 
wife, had always been Madame de StaeFs per- 
sonal enemy. Do the records of political strife 
show any other instance of a generous integrity 
like this ? After the insurrection of Aug. 10, 
every hour became an hour of peril; but her 
woman's heart refused to leave her friends in 
danger, and it was not till Oct. 2 that she 
attempted to flee. Then she was attacked by 
the populace, and narrowly escaped with her 
life. She was one of those who demanded of 



214 MADAME DE STAEL. 

Austria the liberty of La Fayette. When Tal- 
leyrand returned from America in 1796, she had 
influence enough to secure his appointment as 
foreign minister. When, afterwards, it became 
necessary for him to choose between his bene- 
factress and his own interests, his narrow soul 
could not hesitate : so we need not wonder that 
he was accused of saying, " It is easier to manage 
Satan himself than one honest woman.'' 

Soon after this, she published her work upon 
the ^^ Influence of the Passions.'' No one is 
better quahfied to judge of the destructive in- 
fluence of these upon society than a woman 
married to a man whom she does not love, and 
compelled to feel the warmth of a passion un- 
sustained by its appropriate sentiment. Madame 
de Stael was not one to reason blindly on such 
a subject. We do not know where the encyclo- 
pedist found the information, that the baron was 
young, cultivated, and handsome. Young he 
was not; for he died of the infirmities of age 
when his wife was only thirty-two. Cultivated 
he was not ; for he could not even appreciate 
the glowing gifts of his wife. In a dozen me- 
moirs, we have never seen the most distant 
allusion to his personal attractions. They lived 
in apparent harmony until the age of her three 



MADAME DE STAEL. 215 

children justified Madame de Stael in claiming 
a suitable provision from the property which 
her father had conveyed to her husband, to be 
secured against the inroads of his extravagant 
habits. Then they separated ; but a woman like 
Madame de Stael could never be indifferent to 
the father of her children. When his increasing 
infirmities rendered it necessary, she returned, 
and fulfilled a voluntary pledge by remaining 
with him till his death in 1798. 

She first saw Bonaparte in 1797. Many rea- 
sons have been assigned for the strong dislike 
which soon grew up between them. On Madame 
de StaePs part, it was, perhaps, a natural feeling 
of resentment, when she found that he would 
not pledge himself to the independence of Swit- 
zerland. They were too brilliant to spare each 
other. With Bonaparte, an epigram pierced 
deeper than a sword. 

Her instinct penetrated to his unscrupulous 
ambition. She had called him " Robespierre on 
horseback;" and when, in 1802, Necker pub- 
lished his " Last Yiews on Policy and Finance," 
Bonaparte detected the keen insight of the wo- 
man in the prediction of the overthrow of the 
republic. 

It was a premature announcement, and found 



216 MADAME DE STAEL. 

no favor with the ruler. He forbade Necker to 
publish, and banished Madame de Stael from 
Paris. 

An absurd self-esteem was predominant in 
French literature when the latter first began to 
write. Her generous appreciation of foreign 
nations chastened this in a most wholesome 
manner ; but that self-esteem was a tool with 
a keen edge, that Bonaparte meant to use, and 
did not like to see blunted. How truly she 
prophesied for that time and this, when she said 
that a military despotism alone could re-establish 
order in her beloved Prance, we can all see well 
enough now. To every entreaty of her friends 
that he would permit her to return, Bonaparte 
always answered, '' No ! '^ — "I have left her the 
whole world,'' he added; "but let her be con- 
tented to leave Paris to me." 

After her father's death, she went to Italy ; 
and she did not sketch her own ideal in " Co- 
rinne " half so efiectually as she showed, in 
" Lord Nelvil," the hold that this affliction had 
taken of her mind. " Germany," the finest of 
her works on many accounts, was too liberal for 
the French courts. After the censors had ex- 
purgated and approved of it, Savary suppressed 
the whole edition. " The work is not French, 



MADAME DE STAEL. 217 

and the air of France suits neither it nor you/^ 
was his only explanation. 

In 1810, she was residing at Geneva, and 
extended a generous sympathy to a young 
wounded officer from the south of France, named 
de Rocca. She was at this time forty-four, and 
he only twenty-three. The genius of the woman 
fired his whole soul. To the remonstrances of 
friends, who censured what they thought a child- 
ish infatuation, he replied, " I will love her so 
passionately, that I will compel her to marry 
me.^' She found in this union a quiet happi- 
ness ; for it was said of her with truth, that, 
" although she had never been a child, she 
never ceased to be young.'' 

In 1812, she went through Russia and Sweden 
to England ; and was delayed in Sweden by the 
death of her favorite son. In 1814, she reached 
Calais, where she was received by the foreign 
allies with the greatest distinction, and hastened 
by her influence the removal of the foreign troops 
from France. It is said that Napoleon asked 
her to return, and assist him in forming his new 
Constitution, in 1815 ; but she replied emphatical- 
ly, ^^ He has done without me and the Constitu- 
tion for twelve years, and now he loves neither 
of us.'' After the restoration, she returned to 



218 MADAME DE STAEL. 

Paris, happy in the love of her devoted hus- 
band and the fine promise of her children ; com- 
forted also by the prospect of a free Constitution 
for France. 

Her departure to another world, in the year 
1817, did not take her by surprise. Looking 
forward to the great change, she said, '^ I have 
the fullest conviction that the love of God will 
make it easy.'' She was interred at Coppet. 

In 1821, her complete works were published 
by the Baron de Stael in seventeen volumes 
octavo. In 1830, Schlosser's admirable "Paral- 
lel between Madame de Stael and Madame Ro- 
land '' was published at Vienna and Paris. De 
Rocca was no weak enthusiast : he printed two 
works on " Strategy,'' and left a manuscript 
novel. He died of grief within six months of 
his wife. 

A little human vanity (observe that we do not 
write it feminine vanity) at one time betrayed 
Madame de Stael into an approbation of that 
philosophy which her whole life refuted. She 
was the first woman in France, if we except in 
a degree her mother, who made herself an 
intellectual power to be feared. Napoleon could 
control the French nation, but not her. Other 



MADAME DE STAEL. 219 

tribunals reversed their decrees ; but she was 
found faithful. 

In Lewes's recent ^^ Life of Goethe, he says, 
'^ In December, 1803, Weimar had a visitor 
whose rank is high among its illustrious guests, 
— Madame de Stael. Napoleon would not suffer 
her to remain in France ; and Benjamin Constant 
carried her there, that she might see and know 
something of the men her work on Germany 
was to reveal to her countrymen. It is easy to 
ridicule Madame de Stael ; to call her, as Heine 
does, a ^ whirlwind in petticoats,' and a ^ sultana 
of mind : ' but Germans should be grateful to 
her for that book which still remains one of the 
best written about Germany ; and the lover of 
letters will not forget, that her genius has, in 
various departments of literature, rendered for 
ever illustrious the power of womanly intellect. 
Goethe and Schiller, whom she stormed with 
her cannonades of talk, spoke of her intellect 
with great admiration. ' Of all living creatures 
he had seen,' Schiller said, ^ she was most talka- 
tive, most combative, the most gesticulative ; 
but she was also the most cultivated and the 
most gifted.' The contrast between her French 
and his German culture, and the difficulty he 
had in expressing himself in French, did not 



220 * MADAME DE STAEL. 

prevent his being much interested. In the 
sketch of her he sent to Goethe, it was well said, 
' She insists on explaining every thing, under- 
standing every thing, measuring every thing. 
She admits of no darkness, nothing incommen- 
surable ; and, where her torch throws no light, 
there nothing can exist. Hence her horror of 
the ideal philosophy, which she thinks leads to 
mysticism and superstition. For what we call 
poetry she has no sense : she can only appreci- 
ate what is passionate, rhetorical, universal. If 
she does not prize what is false, she does not 
always perceive what is true.' '' 

Her colloquial eloquence was marvellous ; and 
on it, as on all points which concerned her re- 
putation as a woman of genius, she loved to 
extort the suffrage of all the world."^ Her 
country was as proud of her works as her 
friends were fond of her person. 

While, on the one hand, she exercised the 
most despotic power as a woman of genius, and 
obtained permission to be learned and metaphy- 
sical by showing the most undoubted power to 
be so, and so put all future women under infinite 



* See anecdote of the Comte de S^gur, in the sketch of Mar- 
garet Fuller. 



MADAME DE STAEL. 221 

obligations to her ; she could not, on the other, 
free herself from a sort of Rousseauish senti- 
mentality. Her need of being beloved was as 
womanly and full as her power of conversation ; 
and strong-minded women have reproached her 
with the fate permitted to her magnificent Co- 
rinne. In the denouement of this novel, how- 
ever, she followed the educational influences of 
society, which never permit the most distin- 
guished woman to forget that it was for love 
alone she was born ; while the noble, original 
lines of her life have been reflected gratefully 
by hundreds of women within the century. 

How the woman constantly tormented, and 
finally conquered, the artist in her, we discover 
in her unacknowledged marriage, in the very 
decline of life, to a man younger than herself, 
and every way her inferior except in the power 
of loving. How the artist triumphed in its 
turn, and must triumph for ever, all the works 
with which she has endowed the century prove, 
all the glowing reputation shows, which still 
clothes her name with an electric life and light. 

Madame de StaePs eldest son, the heir to the 
title, died in 1827, distinguished for his unpre- 
tending worth, his philanthropy, and his attach- 
ment to liberty. He published some valuable 



222 MADAME DE STAEL. 

'' Letters on England.'' The second was killed 
in a duel while in the Swedish service. Her 
daughter, if living, is now Duchess de Broglie. 
It is said that her will revealed the existence 
of a son by her second marriage. If so, it is 
strange that this fact should be all that we know 

of him. 

A relative of Madame de Stael — Madame 
Necker de Saussure — sketches thus her per- 
sonal appearance : '' She was graceful in every 
movement. Her figure, without entirely satisfy- 
ing the eye, attracted and enchained it ; for it had, 
as the exponent of her soul, a very rare advan- 
tage. It unfolded suddenly into a sort of spirit- 
ual beauty. Genius beamed from her eyes, 
which were of rare magnificence. Her gestures, 
always harmonious, gave weight to her discourse. 
Her arms were of remarkable beauty and white- 
ness, and her dress rather picturesque than 
fashionable.'' She was an admirable musician ; 
possessing a voice of remarkable flexibility, 
power, and sweetness. A far greater charm, 
however, resided in her conversational power. 
Inspiration flowed through her lips as never 
through her pen. In her work on '' Germany," 
she says, after dwelling upon the spirit and 
freshness of conversation in Paris, " That sort 



MADAME DE STAEL. 223 

of pleasure which is produced by an animated 
conversation does not precisely depend on the 
nature of that conversation. The ideas and 
knowledge which it evolves do not form its 
principal interest. That consists, in a certain 
manner, of acting on one another ; of giving mu- 
tual and instantaneous delight; of speaking at 
the moment when one thinks ; of acquiring im- 
mediate self-enjoyment ; of receiving applause 
without labor ; of displaying the understanding 
in all its positions, by accent, gesture, look. 
That consists in eliciting at will the electric 
spark, which, while it relieves some of an excess 
of vivacity, shall awaken others from a painful 
apathy.'^ 

It has been often said, that, the more thorough- 
ly a woman's intellect is cultivated, the more 
powerful her passions will become ; and the 
second marriage of Madame de Stael is instanced 
as a proof of the assertion. The happiness of 
that union, one of sentiment more than passion, 
is its best apology ; and, if the remark were true 
at all, it would be equally true of man. As it 
is, a host of women, like Lady Jane Grey, Maria 
Edgeworth, and Miss Sieveking, arise to stamp 
it as a libel. 

In character, Madame de Stael was independ- 



224 MADAME DE STAEL. 

ent and truthful. When told that a congratu- 
lation on the birth of the King of Rome might 
Avin her Napoleon's favor, she replied, " What 
would you have me say ? Can I do more than 
wish that they find him a good nurse ? " Urged 
in the same way to claim the rents of her con- 
fiscated estates, she answered, " To do that, I 
might prepare a certificate of my existence, but 
never a declaration of love." 

Of Madame de Stael's books it is necessary 
to say very little. They have become classic. 
Every one who reads them knows that they are 
not written in the purest French, and that they 
abound in Swiss idioms. She greatly improved 
the whole tone of French literature. What was 
not good French before she wrote it, became so 
by her writing it. She imparted a vigor to her 
style, which one could hardly fancy the language 
capable of holding. She disarms criticism, and 
drags the reader into her own channels, by the 
rush of her thinking. She contributed a paper 
upon Aspasia to the " Biographic Universelle." 
Her works, as a whole, are thought to have 
a high tone. " Delphine " described her own 
early life, and showed the painful conflict be- 
tween her energetic nature and the conven- 
tions of society. Of course, society denounced 



MADAME DE STAEL. 225 

it; and she wrote her own "Defence.'^ There 
are stupid people everywhere, who seem to think 
that romances have no right to exist if they do 
not do all the reflectmg for them. In books, 
goodness must be rewarded, vice unsuccessful : 
consequently, Jane Eyre, George Sand, and Del- 
phine are contraband. But is it so in life? and, 
without pretending that Jane Eyre and Roches- 
ter are patterns of Christian virtue, is it not 
right, when one knows that such lives are lived, 
to sketch them truly and forcibly, so as to re- 
veal humanity to itself? What wonderful reve- 
lations were made by that book ! Not even 
the world-known Uncle Tom has touched so 
many human hearts to the deepest quick as 
Jane Eyre. Under its influence, how many of 
the icebergs of society suddenly flamed out as 
volcanoes ! In commenting on it, how the dolls 
of fashion grew into warm-hearted women ! how 
the victims of convention were fused into living 
human souls ! 

The moral was not in the book : no one pre- 
tended that. It was deduced from it, because 
it roused active thought on matters of moral life 
and death. So might it be with ^' Delphine." 



15 



XI. 

MARGARET FULLER. 



" The maiden of Phoebus, to whom the golden-haired 
Gave, as a privilege, a virgin life." 



rr^HE horticulturist glows with delight when 
-■- Nature offers him a new flower. The state- 
lier its aspect, the more intense its tints, the 
more formidable its culture, the more cordial his 
welcome. While its reviving fragrance floats 
through his conservatory, and lifts the very- 
heads of all other plants, hope kindles in his 
bosom, and every energy is bent to the perfect- 
ing of that germ which is the vehicle of its im- 
mortal type, — the germ which is to transmit its 
grace, its color, and its God-given charm. He 
does not stay to ask w^hy the stem is coarse and 
angular, the leaves heavy and viscous, the root 
moist with a poisonous juice, the very calyx 
which enshrines the precious germ set round 
with thorns. If he deals with these matters at 
all, it is as an intelligent questioner, seeking 



MARGARET FULLER. 227 

their use, and relation to continuous life ; not 
as a fault-finder gossiping against the Eternal. 
What precious fluids flow through that angu- 
lar channel, what honeyed sweets are distilled 
through viscous exhalations, what precious me- 
dicament lies hid in the poison, what possible 
injury to the young germ the thorny crown re- 
pels, — these things perhaps concern him. Would 
to God that ordinary human creatures stood thus 
reverent before a new soul fresh from that hand 
which makes and permits no mistakes ! Would 
that their eyes opened gladly to the unfading 
beauty of the immortal ; and that the angularity, 
the bitterness, the individual peculiarity or weak- 
ness, with which God defends the youth of his 
best beloved, were heeded only as they reveal 
the secret of development or explain the facts 
of position ! Then had we long since ceased to 
hear of Margaret FuUer^s arrogance, conceit, and 
irreligion, and had recognized her as a noble 
gift to our time, the true inspirer — sometimes 
by association, always by emulation — of our 
" young men and maidens." Alas ! the days are 
changed since she stood among us. Very far 
from Margaret's is the standard of noble truth, 
of womanly aspiration, of literary culture, which 
satisfies the demand of society now. And, at the 



228 MARGARET FULLER. 

moment when a truly ennobling brotherly love 
oflfers us a complete memorial of her,"^ it will 
be well to review briefly the works which she 
has left to us ; most and longest, to consider that 
best of all her works, her life ; and to endeavor 
to correct some misapprehensions concerning 
her which still float on the popular breeze, i 

To those who ^^ wander to and fro in the 
earth/' fulfilling the varied engagements of the 
lyceum, these misapprehensions are familiar as 
household words. Rumor finished her clumsy 
work long years ago, and it is still too early for 
the historic sponge to clear the board. " Show 
us any thing that Margaret has left as fine as 
many of the things that have been said of her, 
and we will put faith in your vindication," said 
once an intelligent clergyman, who should have 
known better. Is it nothing, then, to prompt to 
the saying of fine things? '^ This is the method 
of genius,'^ writes Margaret, — '^ to ripen fruit for 
the crowd by those raj' s of whose heat they com- 
plain." 

The two volumes of memoirs now republished 
contain, beside the original matter, a touching 



* Life, and Complete Works, of Margaret Fuller. In six vols. 
Boston: Brown, Taggard, and Chase. 1860. 



MARGARET FULLER. 229 

life of Margaret's mother, from the pen of her 
son Richard ; and a Genealogical Record of the 
Fuller Family, which doubtless indicates the 
force and quality of that blood. It seems to us 
that the editor is unnecessarily anxious to efface 
the impression, that his father's discipline was so 
severe as to over-tax even Margaret's precocity. 
In her Autobiography, a species of writing for 
which she was admirably qualified by nature, 
Margaret left on record, in regard to this matter, 
precisely the statement which she desired should 
survive. Does the editor call the Autobiography 
a romance ? Very well. In its pages, Margaret 
seized her personal experience, and, by her 
usual intuitive insight, made it of universal use. 
" A more than ordinarily high standard was 
presented me," she writes. ^^ My father's in- 
fluence upon me was great, but opposed to the 
natural unfolding of my character, which was 
fervent, of strong grasp, and disposed to infatua- 
tion and self-forgetfulness." To foster these 
peculiarities would have been a worse service 
than any overstraining; and, by the thorough 
training he required, Mr. Fuller brought an in- 
fluence to bear on Margaret's ^^ infatuation," 
whose benefits she never ceased to feel, and 
came ultimately to understand. With her night- 



230 MARGAKET FULLER. 

mares and somnambulisms, also, this severe 
discipline and excessive study bad very little to 
do. Tbey belong to such natures as hers. 
They are a part of the dreamy " self-forgetful- 
ness ; " and^ if an occasional indiscretion added 
to their horrors, they could not have been wholly 
escaped, under the most tender indulgence, by 
one of her class. If not overworked by external 
circumstances, a mind like Margaret^s must have 
overwrought itself. 

Madame de Stael wrote standing, that she 
might not seem to be disturbed when her auto- 
cratic father entered her apartment. A gifted 
woman of the present century spent three years 
of her youth in copying mercantile letters ; the 
only curb the common sense of her merchant 
father could find for an ideality he did not com- 
prehend. To all such natures, God provides 
such discipline. It may look harsh : we can 
trust Him that it shall prove wise. 

None but poets remember their youth; and 
we prize this autobiographical fragment more 
than most of what Margaret has left us. Very 
beautiful is the conception of these two volumes, 
— a threefold yet concurrent testimony, which 
serves to show her many-sided nature. Very 
grateful ought our public to be to Mr. Clarke 



MARGARET FULLER. 231 

for the crystalline clearness with which he sets 
before them the story of his intercourse with his 
friend. He feels his obligations, and, with grace- 
ful, manly self-reliance, acknowledges them. To 
her other biographers she ministered delight; 
to him, growth. They stood admiring: he felt 
the woman in the genius. ^^ This record," he 
says, ^^ may encourage some youthful souls, as 
earnest and eager as ours, to trust themselves to 
their hearts' impulse, and enjoy some such bless- 
ing as came to us." He will never know how 
many. Nowhere does the remarkable simplicity 
of Margaret's relations with men and women ap- 
pear to such advantage as in his pages. Not a 
shadow of coquetry nor mist of passion hovers 
over the record : impetuosity, ardor, and high 
resolve, gleam through the rifts of the correspon- 
dence, and grant us clear guesses at what we do 
not see. 

The most common charge brought against 
Margaret is that of arrogance, — a charge which 
had some show of truth in it, both as concerns 
her individually and the temperament which 
she inherited. But who are we that bring this 
charge ? and what true significance has it ? 
May we not be tale-bearers, censorious, meddlers 
in other men's matters ? and, if so, what is the 



232 MARGARET FULLER. 

significance of that fact? For ns and Margaret 
abides the old eternal law. She was human : we 
had no right to expect of her, perfection, either 
inherited or attained, during the development 
we saw. The only profitable question is, Did 
she accept, foster, hug to her bosom, her own 
frailties ? or did she in the main, at all events 
ultimately, see their true nature, and put them 
under subjection? To this question there can 
be but one answer. 

From a manuscript some time in our posses- 
sion we copy the following statement — a very 
fair one, it seems to us — of the impression she 
sometimes made upon truly noble souls : — 

" My nature would always have resented the assumption 
of superiority ; but gladly would I have knelt before the 
humblest human creature in whom I perceived it, — many a 
pure-hearted child has bent the knee which only stiffened be- 
fore Margaret, — and this, not because I was not willing to ac- 
knowledge her fine ability, her great superiority, but because 
I knew that the highest crown we could either of us inherit, 
it depended upon our own wills to wear, — because I felt 
myself as much the child of my heavenly Father as she. To 
become truly regal in my eyes, she must have relinquished 
the love of power for its own sake ; must stretch out gene- 
rous, sustaining tendrils towards feebler souls ; in fine, must 
break up her ' court,' and enter into * society/ If there was 
any thing in my OAvn temper which bore a likeness to her 
faults, I only felt on that account how necessary it was that 
she should hold them, as I was trying to hold mine, * under 



MARGARET FULLER. 233 

her heel.' Margaret was even then, at times, beautifully 
tender and considerate ; but it was from the heights of her 
queenliness that she was so. Her possibilities enthralled 
me, but never her actual self." 

This statement, nowhere so distinctly made in 
the Memoirs, but involved in others which they 
contain, may, for the sake of truth, be made once ; 
but, for the sake of all honor and nobleness, let 
it be then set aside. We balance it first by her 
own words concerning Carlyle, — showing how 
much juster she could be to others than we are 
to her, — and then by the prayer which Mr. 
Channing quotes from her diary, under date of 
the very hour which rung with complaints of her 
conceit and coldness : — 

" His arrogance," she says of Carlyle, " does not in the 
least proceed from an unwillingness to allow freedom to 
others. No man would more enjoy manly resistance. It is 
the habit of a mind accustomed to follow its own impulse, 
as a hawk does its pre)% He is, indeed, arrogant and over- 
bearing ; but, in his arrogance, there is no trace of littleness 
or self-love. It is in his nature ; in the untamable energy 
that has given him power to crush the dragons." 

All this was true of her who wrote it, and 
who, at the moment of misapprehension, wrote 
also this truly Christ-like prayer: — 

" Father, let me not injure my fellows during this period 
of repression. I feel, that, when we meet, my tones are not 



234 MARGARET FULLER. 

as sweet as I would have them. Oh ! let me not wound. 
I, who know so well how wounds can burn and ache, should 
not inflict them. Let my touch be light and gentle. Let 
me not fail to be kind and tender when need is." 

And here her keen intelleGtuality detected a 
pharisaic satisfaction in the very humihty of her 
petition, and her truth breaks through to close 
in these words : — 

"Yet I would not assume an overstrained poetic mag- 
nanimity. Help me to do just right, and no more." 

Do the records of noble womanhood show us 
a finer instance of self-knowledge and humble 
seeking? 

Next to be considered is the common charge 
of an irreligious character ; and this charge the 
volumes before us by no means rebut in so forci- 
ble a manner as could be wished. Mr. Clarke's 
expression of " almost Christian/' when he 
speaks of her aim in self-culture ; Mr. Emerson's 
evident want of faith in her religious experi- 
ences, of a nature it was impossible he should 
understand; his dwelling so long upon her belief 
in demonology and fate, in omens and presenti- 
ments, — have done much to strengthen the popu- 
lar mistake. Margaret had a Goethe-like faculty 
of seeming and being all things to all men. The 
creature hardly lived to whom she would have 



MARGARET FULLER. 235 

breathed out her vital religious experiences ia 
all their force. To the cold and flippant, before 
the merely intellectual or philosophic, she was 
dumb as death. When she presented to an ob- 
server a single glittering surface, she was neces- 
sarily misunderstood. She forgot her own past, 
and did not pause to explain changes. In his 
usual spirit of fairness, Mr. Emerson ofiers us 
the key to the riddle, so far as it concerns him- 
self 

" The religious nature remained unknown to you," Mar- 
garet writes, " because it would not proclaim itself, but 
claimed to be divined. The deepest soul that approached 
you was, in your eyes, nothing but a magic lantern." 

It seems to us that Mr. Clarke came nearer 
to her, personally, than any of her biographers ; 
and, if so, it was on account of the deep rehgious 
glow in his own soul, which hers answered with 
a faint but decided reflection. He undoubtedly 
strove to make the truth manifest in this regard, 
and failed, not for lack of material, — for we have 
an abundance in his pages, — but from some 
accidental inability to marshal it in efiective 
array. The book followed, as most memoirs do 
now-a-days, too soon upon the death of its sub- 
ject, and could not meet a public prejudice as 
yet unrecognized. 



236 MARGARET FULLER. 

Margaret^s profound truthfulness was religious 
in its very nature, and she herself recognized 
the relation. Truthfulness is Godlike to our 
human view, beyond Love, beyond that Justice 
of which it is one element ; for we encounter it 
more rarely : and Margaret wrote early, and as 
expressing the shaping fact of her own inward 
life, '' The man of Truth ; that is, of God.''— ^*' She 
had so profound a faith in truth, that thoughts 
to her were things,'' writes Mr. Clarke ; and, 
because they were of the essence of God himself, 
she dealt with them so subtly, so earnestly, and 
so unsparingly. 

It was religious aspiration which spoke in her 
when she wrote, " No fortunate purple isle exists 
for me now, and all these hopes and fancies are 
lifted from the sea into the sky." — ^^ Never was 
my mind so active," she writes a little after- 
ward ; " and the subjects are God, the universe, 
and immortality." Are we to believe she 
thought of such things in vain ? She professed 
herself ignorant of theology : so let her remain. 
If her religious instincts failed anywhere at first, 
it was in practical recognition of the brother- 
hood of man ; but the walls of Sing-Sing and 
the Roman hospitals cry out with answers to 
that charge. 



MARGARET FULLER. 237 

One friend she gladly sought ^^ for his com- 
pacty thoroughly considered views of God and 
the world ; '^ sought because of the natural affi- 
nity of her mind to such views, not because she 
was half pagan, and worshipped like her Greeks. 

" Tangible promises, well-defined hopes, are 
things of which I do not now feel the, need, '^ she 
wrote once ; and on the next page : ^^ Blessed 
Father, lead me any way to truth and goodness ; 
but, if it might be, I would not pass from idol to 
idol. Lead me, my Father ; enable me to root out 
pride and selfishness." — ^^ Margaret, has God^s 
light dawned on your soul ? " questions some 
friend ; and she answers with a truly Christian 
humility, ^^ I think it has." Indeed, so far from 
being irreligious, it might almost be said of Mar- 
garet, from the testimony of these pages, that 
she received a sudden illumination, and was 
converted in the strict evangelical sense. Of 
the period to which we refer, Margaret wrote, 
" This truth came to me, and I received it un- 
hesitatingly : so that I was, for that hour, taken 
up into God." And afterwards : " At that hour I 
was taken up ; later, the Holy Dove descended." 
It was in experiences like these that Emerson 
put no faith ; their ecstasy did not suit his cool 
head : and, in her periods of bitterest anxiety 



238 MARGARET FULLER. 

for her husband and child, Margaret wrote from 
Italy, that his fears were justified ; her faith 
had not lasted. But her own words, written at 
such a moment, must not be allowed to condemn 
her. If such feelings lose their intensity, as we 
all know, they are none the less real on that 
account : they are the seed of a yet diviner 
experience. It is our human weakness which 
cries out in Gethsemane ; and children of God 
we still are, whether we can read our family 
name or not. ^^ I thought I should die," she 
wrote after her sickness at Groton ; " but I was 
calm, and looked to God without fear. Nothing 
sustains me now but the thought of God, who 
saw fit to restore me to life when I was so very 
willing to leave it. I shall be obliged to give 
up selfishness in the end. May God enable me 
to see the way clear ! '' And, when Margaret 
wrote this, she was not accusing herself of any 
low form of selfishness ; only of that intense de- 
sire for self culture, which possessed her like a 
demon, and which it was the will of God, 
working through circumstances, perpetually to 
thwart. 

" I have faith," she says again, " in a glorious 
explanation, which shall make manifest perfect 
justice and wisdom. I reverence the serenity 



MARGARET FULLER. 239 

of a truly religious mind so much, that I think I 
may attain to it/' — "Like Timon, I have loved 
to give, not so much from beneficence as from 
restless love. I return to thee, my Father, 
from the husks that have been offered me ; but 
I return as one who meant not to leave thee.'' 

In July, 1838, she says, "I partook to-day, for 
the first time, of the Lord's Supper : I had often 
wished to do so." Were these the utterances 
of an irreligious spirit ? Nay, rather of one 
profoundly religious, but too individual to ac- 
cept commonplace conclusions, or be content 
with a second-hand faith. Very slowly did this 
side of her nature develop, but with soundness 
and entire freedom. Could she have seen as 
little children see, when she so bitterly regretted 
her defeated hope of visiting Europe, she would 
have been saved the need of much painful self- 
surrender ; she would have known, that in all 
earthly experience, whether of travel or of artis- 
tic or literary culture, there is but one end to be 
gained, — an end which God inevitably secures 
for every human soul, though he may sometimes 
postpone it ; and, in this faith, every thwarted 
purpose glows in the light of hope. Too much 
is said, in these volumes, of her own dissatisfac- 
tion at her lack of personal charms. Margaret 



240 MARGARET FULLER. 

herself said, and said truly, this was mere '^ su- 
perficial, temporary tragedy ! '^ 

It surprises us also that one of her biographers 
at least should expect impossibilities of her. 
Strange, he thinks it, that she has not studied 
the natural sciences, and can write only vapid 
descriptions of ^' skyscape.'' But it was never 
in Margaret to observe or to criticize nature or 
art for itself alone. The subtle changes of air 
and earth and sea she heeded only as the 
aesthetic influence stole over her; and then she 
described, not nature's change, but the regene- 
rating, soothing power of nature over the human 
soul. Transfigured before her were her violets 
and lilies ; and the little hedge-row blossom 
glov/ed tropically in the light to which her hand 
lifted it. So art moved her chiefly as one mani- 
festation of human power of expression or power 
of excitation. She makes mistakes, it may be ; 
but not from her own psychical stand-point. 
Of her faults she herself said, that there was 
^^ room in the universe '' for them, and that she 
herself had more important matters to think of. 
Would to God that the world could recognize 
the wisdom of the saying! As well might the 
rose wear away its petals in striving to blunt its 
own thorns, as a nobly constituted creature of 



MARGARET FULLER. 241 

God gaze morbidly and for ever on its own weak- 
nesses. 

To be good in the sight of God, to be noble 
and generous in its relation to every other 
human soul, — that is alone worthy of con- 
sideration. All honor to Margaret that she 
kept her eye turned heavenward, and bated no 
jot of heart or hope ! Most of us know our own 
sins by heart, and owe very little except vexa- 
tion to society's persistent accusing. Margaret's 
power to "' draw out others,'' spoken of in these 
volumes, was by no means universal. It existed 
for those whom she loved or wished to love. 
Many she silenced or repelled. Elizabeth Pea- 
body, who survives her, is infinitely her superior 
in this regard ; being naturally hospitable to all 
degrees of excellence ; disheartening no simple 
effort, and knowing well how to crown such as 
merit the best. 

" It remains to say," says Emerson, and we say with him, 
" that all these powers and accomplishments found their best 
and only adequate channel in her conversation, — a conversa- 
tion which those who have heard it, unanimously, so far as I 
know, pronounced to be, in elegance, in range and flexibility 
and adroit transition, in depth, in cordiality, and in moral 
aim, altogether admirable ; surprising and cheerful as a 
poem, and communicating its own civility and elevation like 
a charm to all hearers." 

16 



242 MARGARET FULLER. 

It is not our intention to follow the thread of 
Margaret^s married life : the romance of it is too 
tender^ the close too cruel, for us to trust our- 
• selves. It is, beside, well known to the world; 
and humanity has already vindicated her love 
for Ossoli, and her yearning thirst for the sight 
of her child. Divine, prophetic, was the pre- 
science which crept over her before she put to 
sea. Those who would not bow to the Delphic 
genius, have bowed, as a late London critic has 
said, to the suffering, storm-beaten woman. 
Meanwhile, let great souls speak of her greatly, 
and bear witness to all the power of her whom 
the ignoble will continue to misconceive. 

In the ,third volume of the complete works is 
published "Woman in the Nineteenth Century ; " 
several papers concerning woman and her inte- 
rests ; and some letters from and concerning 
Margaret, which would more properly have been 
included in the Memoirs. Some of these last 
show her religious feeling and sweet womanli- 
ness in so bright an aspect, that we would gladly 
quote them. " Woman in the Nineteenth Cen- 
tury " is perhaps more widely known than any 
of her works. We shall avoid any lengthened 
criticism of it, because it would open a discus- 
sion of the much-vexed " Woman Question,'' for 



MARGARET FULLER. 243 

which we have neither space nor time. It is 
doubtless the most brilliant, complete, and scho- 
larly statement ever made upon this subject. 
Its terse, epigrammatic sentences have furnished 
more than one watchword to the reformers with 
whom th 3 author herself was never associated. 
The boo'c is interesting as the strongest expres- 
sion of the aggressive and reformatory in her. 
She was interested in our reformers, though she 
spoke of them lightly ; and it was reserved for 
Italy to teach her what Garrison could not, — 
the value of an abstract idea. In Rome, she 
prayed that he might be spared to his country. 
In the preface to this volume, the editor bears 
touching testimony to her domestic virtues. 

The fourth volume contains ^^ Summer on the 
Lakes ; " Margaret's letters to the " Tribune,'' 
giving the details of Italian politics ; some letters 
to friends, portions of which had already been 
incorporated into her Memoir ; and an account 
of the fatal shipwreck. 

" Summer on the Lakes " has long been one of 
our favorite summer classics. It won us, in 1844, 
not more by the vital individuality and grace of 
the style in which it stands alone among her 
lighter works, than by the beauty of the little 
brown etchings with which her friend Miss 



244 MARGARET FULLER. 

Clarke adorned the first edition. In the matter 
of style, it was Margaret's peculiarity to have 
none when she spoke from her memory. The 
narrative portions of this volume, for example, 
might just as well have been written by any- 
body else ; but once arouse her heart a id mind, 
and out flows the personality. Let her speak 
of Mazzini, or describe a fringed flower in the 
moonbeams, and no one could mistake the author. 
This volume is especially interesting as contain- 
ing all that remains of her Italian experience ; 
her complete work on that subject having 
shared, to our bitter regret, her own fate. 

" Art, Literature, and the Drama " is a reprint 
of the volume which Margaret published on the 
eve of her departure for Europe, — a friendly 
gift to those she was leaving. It proved, in 
many respects, the most popular thing she had 
printed. And deservedly ; for Margaret's mind 
was eminently critical. 

She was often misled, as in one well-known 
instance, by the strength of her aflection and 
her sympathy in her first judgment ; but let the 
merit be real, and also of a sort which she was 
glad to see, and no one ever did such exquisite 
justice to thought and its form. Every word 
which she ever wrote of Goethe was admirable ; 



MARGARET FULLER. 245 

and yet what she has left was only her prepara- 
tion for better work. Nothing was ever more 
tender and true than the '^ Sketch of the Two Her- 
berts," in this volume. Let the reader dwell 
also on what she has to say of " American Litera- 
ture '' and the " Lives of the Great Composers." 
The closing volume of the series, entitled 
" Life Without and Life Within," strikes us as 
the most interesting of the miscellanies ; and its 
contents are almost entirely new to the public. 
Here we have the best of what remained about 
Goethe ; pleasant criticisms and ideal sketches of 
many kinds ; appeals for the unhappy also ; and 
words which, if the fault-finders will but read 
them, will show not merely how great was her 
spiritual capacity, but, to a degree, the measure 
of her attainment. It is impossible, in closing, to 
criticize Margaret's works as they deserve. We 
repeat what is well known, and has been often 
said, when we write that their suggestiveness is 
their chief, their perpetual charm. No one can 
read attentively what she wrote, without learn- 
ing to think for himself. The difference between 
Margaret's written works and her marvellous 
conversation was well indicated by a remark 
made by the Comte de Segur to Madame de 
Stael. " Tell me, count," she asked in a viva- 



246 MARGARET FULLER. 

cioiis moment, " which do you like best, — my 
conversation or my printed works?" — "Your 
conversation, madam,'^ was the immediate reply ; 
" for it does not give you leisure to become ob- 
scure/' Some poems are added which have 
been severely criticized. It is quite probable 
that Margaret never would have published them ; 
that she would have said of them at last what 
she wrote at first, — that her " verses were 
merely vents for her personal experience." 
Nevertheless, let them be poor, as the critics 
will, in artistic form : we are glad to have them 
as revelations of her inward life. Margaret 
Fuller wrote never a word to be suppressed. 
We feel an infinite confidence in her, and we 
thank her brother for sharing it. One of these 
poems, at least, seems to us to have exquisite 
truth and beauty, both in thought and form. 
We refer to the "Lines to S. C," — the friend 
who illustrated her " Summer on the Lakes." 

One criticism we cannot withhold. Since 
these six volumes are stereotyped, and have 
taken their permanent form, we deeply regret 
that all the biographical matter was not thrown 
together according to its period, even if appen- 
dix after appendix had been made necessary by 
the step. It is further a matter of regret, that 



MARGARET FULLER. 247 

the essays themselves are not dated. We are 
quite aware that this is not usual ; but, in this 
particular case, the psychological value of the 
rare record would have been much increased 
by such a means of tracing development. 

We should have been glad to extract largely 
from these volumes : but, to do it, we must have 
resigned all hope of speaking at length in regard 
to Madame Ossoli's personal character. To that 
we could not consent. 

We could hardly believe, till we had turned 
the six volumes over and over again, that the 
only portrait offered in this complete edition is 
one from the picture painted by Hicks during 
the last few months of her life in Rome. It was 
well to have this preserved; for there is great 
ideality and sweetness in the expression, — a 
certain look we always hoped would dawn and 
nestle there. Those who saw her after the hope 
of a mother had risen in her heart say that this 
was then a good likeness ; but we cannot get 
over the loss of the first portrait, published, we 
think, in the original edition of '^ Woman in the 
Nineteenth Century." If the last likeness gives 
an idea of more personal beauty than Margaret 
possessed, it has wholly lost that majestic. Juno- 
like curve of the throat, which was more than 



248 MARGARET FULLER. 

beauty. If it was thus her eyes dilated, and 
her lip grew tender, when she gazed upon the 
wounded men in those Italian hospitals, let us 
know it ; but let us not be compelled to be satis- 
fied with a portrait which not one of her early 
friends would recognize. 



XII. 
"THE GREAT LAWSUIT." 

MEN AND WOMEN VS. CUSTOM AND TRADITION. 



" I am a scribbled form, drawn with a pen upon a parchment;." — King John. 



TITTHEN, in 1844, Margaret Fuller gave '' The 
' ^ Great Lawsuit '' to the pages of the first 
" Dial/' she stated with transcendent force the 
argument which formed the basis of the first 
^^ Woman's Rights Convention" in 1848. Nothing 
has since been added to her statement ; nothing 
can ever be taken away from it : and every new 
step in the movement crowns her brow with a 
new laurel ; for to her it was left to make a com- 
plete, scholarly exposition of a question, only 
the first third of which came to treatment 
under the hands of Mary Wollstone craft. 

The progress of the " Woman's Rights " move- 
ment seems rapid, only because we have not 
traced its gradual historic development. The 
law of Christ, involving perfect human justice. 



250 THE GREAT LAWSUIT. 

is constantly changing future possibilities into 
present facts. Previous to the time of Christ, 
and, indeed, for some centuries after his coming, 
eminent women in several countries had seized 
position and privilege. The oppressions and 
innuendoes of Vedantic lore could not annihilate 
the metaphysical and mathematical power of the 
Hindoo Lilivati; but scores of commentators have 
wearied themselves for ages in explaining, in a 
miraculous manner, such an exception to her 
sex. Aspasia defied the insults of actors and 
play-wrights, and unveiled her features in the 
streets of Athens as freely as under the blue 
heaven of her native isle. It was doubtless due, 
in a great measure, to the Empress Theodora, 
that, in the reign of Justinian, the Roman law 
underwent a favorable change. Unhappy were 
the women who died before the invention of the 
printing-press! What the character of this 
empress was, the insight and patience of some 
woman may yet reveal ; but certainly history, 
so far, has not enlightened us. The woman 
whose first thought, when raised from a life of 
infamy to the throne of the world, was to save 
the wretched companions of her early career, 
even though she could not solve the problem 
she set to herself; the woman whose courage. 



THE GREAT LAWSUIT. 251 

and presence of mind, saved not merely Justinian, 
but the peace of the empire in the alarming se- 
dition of 532 A.D., — was a woman worth saving. 
Procopius, who was not too tender to put vile 
stories of her into his anecdotes, praises her in 
his history ; and contemporaries did not hesitate 
to call pious the woman whom her husband, 
weak coward that he was, unceasingly regret- 
ted. 

But position and privilege, seized after this 
Old-World fashion, however pleasant they may 
have proved to the individual, secured no posi- 
tion, opened no privilege, to the sex. Fortunate- 
ly for us, no daily record of womanly life at that 
period survives : only now and then long-buried 
walls, covered with the street-drawings of Pom- 
peii or abominable decorations of Old-World 
cathedrals, give to the instructed eye some dim 
vision of the depths out of which woman has 
arisen. 

In England, centuries later, the general cor- 
ruption of manners which characterized the 
Stuart courts brought its own remedy. Women 
of surpassing beauty, or more than average 
ability, born to wealth and station, fell in groups 
before the prevailing contempt which classic 
studies and Continental habits had not failed to 



252 THE GREAT LAWSUIT. 

nurture. But these women fell to find the ty- 
ranny of license no better than the tyranny of 
law ; and to learn by a bitter experience, that 
restraints may be divine in their nature and 
effects. The first cry of the tortured victims 
was for education, — education which should 
raise them to a certain social equality, and 
should defend them from the inevitable miseries 
of worn-out toys, whose use departed with their 
beauty. And this cry met with a certain sort of 
response ; for education, vocation, and civil po- 
sition, were not yet linked by logic in the public 
mind. 

Among those who took a high rank in this 
movement was Maiy Astell ; a woman distin- 
guished for theological and literary labors, and 
the intimate friend of a celebrated Platonist, 
— John Norris of Bemerton. '^ A Letter to a 
Lady'' in '^Defence of the Female Sex'' went 
through three editions in the year 1697. "A 
Proposal to Ladies for the Advancement of. 
their True Interests," composed by her, was so 
effectively written, that a wealthy friend, sup- 
posed to be Lady Elizabeth Hastings, imme- 
diately offered ten thousand pounds towards the 
erection of a college for the education of women ; 
and the scheme would have been carried into 



THE GREAT LAWSUIT. 253 

execution but for the bigoted opposition of 
Bishop Burnet. Her " Reflections on Marriage '^ 
were said, by a contemporary, ^^ to be the strong- 
est defence that ever appeared in print of the 
rights and abilities of her sex.'' 

Between the death of Mary Astell in 1731 
and that of Mary Wollstonecraft in 1797, a great 
change occurred in the condition of European 
women. The noble names which lighted up the 
times of Elizabeth and the Commonwealth were 
the names of women, who, in lofty, social posi- 
tion, aided by wealth and the emulation of gifted 
men, amused their leisure with learning as other 
women frittered theirs away at tapestry. But, 
while these exceptions shone like bright par- 
ticular stars, the flood of social corruption which 
issued from the court overwhelmed in its waves 
the mass of the sex. They were more unfor- 
tunate than men ; for civil and social requisi- 
tions forced even the idlest of courtiers into a 
healthier activity. 

When the Revolution put an end to frivolous 
maskings and unwomanly revels, the women 
whom the sword had startled began to think, 
and were won to listen to any schemes for 
employment and respectability. Mary Astell 
found her peers upon the Continent : and, in 



254 THE GREAT LAWSUIT. 

France and Germany, leading women began to 
demand publicly, not merely learning for the 
few, but a good education for the many of the 
middle class ; not yet, alas ! not even noiUj — a 
hundred years later, — the common school or 
the college for the million. 

So it happened, that, in the eighteenth cen- 
tury, some hundreds of women distinguished 
themselves in various kinds ; and, in London, 
Berlin, and Paris, unfortunate husbands found 
themselves more than once sustained, in bank- 
ruptcy and broken health, by the highly edu- 
cated wives whom a previous century would 
have left powerless under the same circum- 
stances. So the same century which welcomed 
Lady Russell and Elizabeth Hamilton ; which 
clasped the circlet of Necker, De Stael, and 
Recamier, with the precious name of Madame 
Roland ; w^hich gave Meta to Klopstock, the 
Frau Rath to Goethe, and Emily Plater to Po- 
land ; which had already promised Rahel to 
Varnhagen, — found Elizabeth Blackwell study- 
ing midwifery in London to support a beloved 
but dying husband, and, when the prejudice of 
the faculty took the bread out of her mouth, de- 
vising, at the early age of twenty-four, the first 
medical botany, which she published with mag- 



THE GREAT LAWSUIT. 255 

nificent illustrations in 1736. This century also 
saw Sybilla Merian (eminent alike as painter, 
engraver, linguist, and traveller) publish, with 
the one hand, an embroiderer^s guide ; while, 
with the other, she unfolded skilfully all the 
mysteries of insect life, in two magnificent vo- 
lumes, issued at Nuremberg in 1679 and 1683. 
When political storms overtook her husband, 
and she was forced to retain her maiden name, 
she sailed for Surinam, .with no companion but 
her young daughter ; and, after three years of 
labor, published at Amsterdam sixty superb 
plates, exhibiting the metamorphoses of the 
insects of Surinam. Her original drawings still 
hang in the Stadt House of Amsterdam, and de- 
corate with their beauty some of the best cabi- 
nets in Europe. Her shining honor lay in the 
fact, that, when she died in 1717, she left two 
daughters able and willing to continue her 
work. 

In the same century, the Paris sun shone 
on the little daughter of the apothecary, — 
Biheron, — who, working restlessly over dead 
bodies in her chamber, perfected the common 
manikin ; and was the first to unfold, by the- 
help of prepared wax, the inner mysteries of 
the human frame. For the deductions which 



256 THE GREAT LAWSUIT. 

gave special lustre to the name of John Hunter, 
he was indebted to the girlish observations of 
Mary Catherine Bih^ron, made eight years before 
the publication of his book. 

The same century saw the calm sense and 
womanly instinct of Elizabeth Nihell contending 
in London against the obstetrical quackeries of 
Godalmin and Smellie, and sustaining, unassisted 
by the best London physicians, the dignity of 
medical science ; while, in Germany, Madame 
Wittembach made sweetmeats in her pantry, or 
wore away in the use of her needle the young 
hours of a life that was to culminate, ere its 
close, in the lustre of unchallenged Greek scho- 
larship and professional distinction, accorded by 
the best-qualified judges of her time. 

These instances — not so remarkable, or they 
would be more widely known — show how the 
work went on, and also that it was chiefly edu- 
cational in its nature, so that no honest womanly 
work could fail to help. Such was the aspect of 
affairs, when, just one hundred years since, Mary 
Wollstonecraft was born ; born to utter one wild, 
despairing cry for education, — a passionate pro- 
test for her sex against popular misapprehension 
and social injustice ; born to melt, by the burn- 
ing current of her words, the crust which had 



THE GREAT LAWSUIT. 257 

SO long protected old insults and abuses. Few 
women of the present day know how much they 
owe to the strength and purpose of this one. 

A ^^ Vindication of the Rights of Woman " 
sounds like a hot argument for political rights ; 
but read it, and you find only a claim for moral 
consideration, — a protest against the sensual 
sentimentality which the pubHc feeling still 
showed when the name and sphere of the sex 
came under consideration. 

Mary WoUstone craft, it may be said, was no 
efi'ective advocate ; since a cloud rested on her 
own name, linked already to those of the French 
atheists ; but, when she published her book, slan- 
der and misapprehension had not had time to do 
their work, and it flashed upon the community 
with all the power of a noble eiBFort made by 
a noble woman. True, wholesome words, spoken 
of life and marriage, of religion and duty, — her 
appeal fell into the popular heart; redeeming 
what was left in it of soundness, and producing 
an effect, both social and literary, which may 
be traced emphatically for more than twenty 
years, and, by a discerning eye, to a far later 
period. 

What did the public know of her ? Only that 
she had succored a dying mother, sustained a 

17 



258 THE GREAT LAWSUIT. 

bankrupt father, educated her sisters, and pro- 
vided for her brothers ; only that she was faith- 
ful to old friends, and grateful to new ones. So 
they read her book ; and that did its work, let 
bigotry and the old church say what it might. 
Its historic significance was soon manifested, as 
the names of Maria Edgeworth, Sidney Morgan, 
Harriet Martineau, and Anna Jameson, dawned 
on the period that intervened between her life 
and that of Margaret Fuller. What an advance 
in the womanly ideal, what a change in the social 
atmosphere, is indicated by the mere mention 
of any one of them ! The influence of Mary 
Astell and her compeers had roused woman to 
an effort after general education : Mary WoU- 
stonecraft gave special impetus to this common 
effort. One of the first results of this impetus 
was the publication of hundreds of books con- 
cerning women, and the translation of the best 
works women had written, in any sort, in any 
tongue, — such as the mathematical works of 
Cunitz and Agnesi, the theses of Wittembach 
and others. Then followed the special character 
of the culture which the women then develop- 
ing began to show. As positively as Anna 
Jameson gave herself to art, and Maria Edge- 
worth to morals, did Harriet Martineau dedicate 



THE GREAT LAWSUIT. 259 

herself to political economy, and Von Heiden- 
reisch to obstetrics. 

Such lives, on the Continent no less than in 
England, roused the public mind to thought; 
and everywhere the " sphere of woman '' came 
to be discussed, and much nonsense to be talked. 
Even the Hungarians, in the midst of revolu- 
tions, paused to dictate to the sex, and French 
and English journals dilated with the theme ; 
while, in Sweden, serious minds were turned 
toward the old abuses, and Fredrika Bremer 
was preparing for that visit to the West which 
was to strike the first blow for the effective 
emancipation of the daughters of Sweden."^ In 
the midst of a very general agitation in that 
Western World, not yet culminating in conven- 
tions, not yet expressed through the desk, not 
yet justified in the medical profession by any 
distinguished name, Margaret Fuller grew up. 
Taught from the first to regard herself as the 
equal of men ; totally incapable of considering 
the question of sex, so far as it concerned the 
fitness of thought, speech, or deed, — it would 

* In May, 1860, Henrietta Oertengren, a teacher, and Sara 
Magnus, a singer, received travelling stipends from the King of 
Sweden. Miss Oertengren is to direct her attention to the best 
methods of female culture. 



2G0 THE GREAT LAWSUIT. 

have been strange if the world had not read 
her some hard lessons. Powers which would 
have challenged the homage of the world, di- 
rected by a manly energy, seemed at first only 
to arm that world against the loving, aspiring 
w^oman. Thrown by remote kinship or personal 
proximity into the society of some of the most 
distinguished men of her native State, she could 
not but recognize her own superiority to the 
best of them, in certain aspects. As a woman, 
it seemed impossible to accomplish any thing: 
as a man, what might not have been achieved ? 
But of this consciousness, such as it was, no 
bitter, unwomanly traces remain : only, on ac- 
count of it, it was easy for her to interest her- 
self in the " Great Lawsuit/' and to round her 
statement later into the full proportions of the 
*^ Woman in the Nineteenth Century.'' Her per- 
sonal feeling was fully met when she laid her 
head upon the heart of her husband; and, through 
him, sweet Mother Nature finally appeased the 
hunger which no classic lore, no sesthetic cul- 
ture, no contact w^ith the wide world of social 
welcome, or resounding fame, had power to sate. 
Nor let any woman blush to make this confession 
for her. What was true of her has been as 
true of the best -cultured manhood. Gibbon 



THE GREAT LAWSUIT. 261 

seized his pen, overshadowed by the majestic 
sweep of those historic periods which were to 
ring in the ears of untold generations, and 
wrote to his friend, *^ It is finished ; but I am 
alone r^ And Goethe, who had mastered human 
experience, and glorified it in the eyes of a 
passing and a rising generation ; Goethe, who 
permitted himself to feel only so far as it would 
serve him to know, — wrote in the same mood, 
" My life has had no fitting aim : I am aweary 
of it all/' 

From Margaret Fuller flowed forth the first 
clear, uncompromising, scholarly demand for the 
civil rights of her sex. What she wrote was 
the ofi'spring of deliberate refiection, and took 
its place at once in the world of letters. The 
fearlessness of her suggestions, the* mobility of 
her style, and the aflSuence of her illustrations, 
won her wide audience ; and the efi'ect of her 
paper was seen not only in the inspiration com- 
municated to minds of smaller grasp, — now, by 
her, thoroughly aroused to the work of emanci- 
pation, — but in that general demand for free- 
dom of vocation, made evident to the public 
mind by names like those of Mrs. Grifiith, 
Caroline Chisholm, Florence Nightingale, Janet 
Taylor, Mary Carpenter, Dorothea Dix, Eliza- 



262 THE GREAT LAWSUIT. 



betli Blackwell, Maiy Patton, and Harriet Hos- 
mer. 

Since Margaret wrote, the work has gone 
steadily on ; and, more and more, all the labor of 
the world opens to woman's touch. The ques- 
tion of women's work is, at this moment, in the 
ascendency; and whatever relates to it meets 
immediate welcome and response. ^^ Let them 
be sea-captains if they will," has given the 
practical bias to all recent consideration of this 
subject. 

The women of whom we have spoken in this 
relation have been exponents of their age : the 
spirit of the time, the thought of the masses, 
crystallized itself in them. 

" They builded better than they knew." 

Since 1848, when a small convention was held 
at Seneca Falls, in the State of New York, the 
demand for civil equality has been steadily 
pressed in the United States. It has been made 
with much eloquence, with varied ability, by 
women whose names are now familiar as house- 
hold words ; and, without formal organization, 
there has come to be in these United States a 
wide-spread and generally acknowledged ^^ Wo- 
man's Rights Party." 



THE GREAT LAWSUIT. 263 

This party demand, — 

First, Absolute freedom in education; abso- 
lute, unquestioned access to all public institu- 
tions, to all libraries and museums, to all means 
of culture, — artistic, aesthetic, scientific, or pro- 
fessional. 

Second, Absolute freedom of vocation ; and 
this freedom involves such a change in public 
thinking as shall make it honorable for all 
women to work, not merely for bread, for the 
support of husband or child, but for fame, for 
money, for work's own sake, as men work. 

Third, Absolute equality before the law; 
which, of course, involves the right of suffrage. 

Education and vocation have found their ex- 
ponents in the past; but there is still required a 
woman capable of stating, from a woman's point 
of view, the present position of woman before 
the law. When this is once fitly done, it will 
level the last defence of the feudal Past. Wo- 
man's past condition, in all civilized countries, 
has been the outgrowth of early Oriental and 
later classic influences. The present attempt to 
emancipate her is a popular effort to overthrow 
them, and enthrone, at their expense, the Common 
Sense of the nineteenth century, the religious 
instincts of Jesus, and the intellectual aspira- 



2G4: THE GREAT LAWSUIT. 

tions whicli persist in the demand. With the 
first moment of victory will be inaugurated a new 
freedom for man also. Looking back through 
the ages in the light of Christian love, he will 
criticize the spirit which has so far tyrannized 
over him. He will forget the coarse insults of 
the Greek comedy and the Latin satirist, as he 
sees, in his wife, his fellow-citizen and fellow- 
laborer as well as his friend. 

Reaching forward to the future, he will claim 
for her, and not only for her, but, far more, for 
his daughters, that absolute inheritance of God's 
world, that absolute field for thought and action, 
which no woman has yet known. And woman? 
Emancipated by Love and Faith, free to ac- 
cept or reject the ministries about her, she will 
perceive more clearly than ever the relation of 
man's life to her own. Recognizing, as oppor- 
tunity evolves them, her duties to society and 
the State, marriage will gain a still diviner sig- 
nificance, and the security of public virtue be 
found in the assurance of private happiness. 

Margaret Fuller told the whole story when 
she said, ^^ Let principles be once firmly esta- 
blished, and particulars will adjust themselves.'' 



FART II. 
FANCIES 



" For to dream of a sweetness is sweet as to know." 



The least touch of their hands in the morning, I keep day and night : 
Their least step on the stair still throbs through me, if ever so light." 



" Now God be thanked for years enwrought 
With love which softens yet." 

E. B. Browning. 



LONG LANE; 

OR, RECOLLECTIONS OF KITTERY LONG AGO, 



" Through work and wail of years 
She winneth a solemn strength.-' 



" A ND SO yon do not call Maine classic 
-^-^ ground?" said a bright-eyed old lady, 
sitting in the window of the parsonage at Kit- 
tery, and speaking to a fair young girl who 
stood beside her, knitting-needles in hand, after 
ancient New -England fashion. " The bright 
waves of yon Piscataqna are very dear to me ; 
and I have half a mind to punish you, Mary, by 
not telling you a word about Long Lane." 

^^ Long Lane ! Dear grandmother, you could 
not be so cruel. Oh ! you do not know how 
earnestly I have longed to hear something of 
that dear old wilderness, where George and I 
held our childish picnics ; where roses are plenty 
as violets in a hedgerow ; and tulips, goose- 
berries, and lilacs are snarled together in such 



268 LONG LANE. 

a tangle ! dear grandmother ! what do you 
know about Long LaneV 

" It was in the time of the Grants/' mused the 
old lady. 

" Maine may not be classic ; but I am sure the 
Grants are/' said Mary. " Why, that was long 
before I can remember ; in the times when the 
Indians lurked behind every tree ; when Mrs. 
Blaisted and Mary Bean were as good heroines 
as Portia or Cornelia. grandmother ! there 
were no mill-wheels nor fishing smacks then.'' 

'* It was almost before I can remember, dear/' 
said the old lady, wiping her glasses ; " and per- 
haps that is the reason why I like to talk about 
it. Such a terrible road as led to it ! and such a 
stupid old farm-horse as we had yoked into our 
low cart when we went ! Yes, Mary, there was 
then a house at Long Lane, and many a curious 
old relic of the Lady Ursula who built it. Sit 
down, child, and I will tell 5^ou all about it. 

" It was a fine summer afternoon, long before 
I was as old as you are, when my mother made 
me very happy, by taking me, as a reward for 
some extra stitching that I had put into my 
father's shirts, on a long-promised visit to Ma- 
dam Whipple at the Lane. I did not know 
much about the place : but I had heard that 



LONG LANE. . 269 

there was a perfect wilderness of flowers, and a 
summer-house that overhung the river; and these 
two things were suflScient to make me dream of 
an Eden. Well do I remember how long we 
were in getting there, and how tired and impa- 
tient I became. At last, the stupid old horse 
entered a winding avenue, shaded by tall trees, 
and hedged by great tangles of barberry and 
sweet-brier ; which, after some minutes, brought 
us to a little oval court, behind the cluster of 
low, rambhng buildings which were Madam 
Whipple's home. 

" Here we left our horse ; and walking round 
to the front, which overlooked the river, a heavy 
gate admitted us to the garden. It was as much 
as my mother could do to lift the ponderous 
iron knocker ; and a long time we kept it going 
before a sleepy-looking servant girl let us in to 
a little semicircular entry, dark and narrow as 
need be, and through that to a long, low parlor. 

" You have never seen such a room, Mary. 
The walls were hung with a dark-velvet paper, 
and the wainscot was nearly black. Through 
the middle of the room ran an immovable table. 
It was long and narrow, and was built into the 
house, of such massive oak sis they cut on these 
shores two hundred years ago. The upper end 



270 . LONG LANE. 

was raised by two steps ; and behind it stood a 
ponderous old chair, that looked as if it might 
have belonged to a cathedral. In this sat Ma- 
dam Whipple. She had been a belle in her 
early days. Handsome as she still was, she had 
lost the use of her limbs, and was confined to 
this stately position. She was not as old as I 
am now ; but I thought her the queerest old 
creature that ever was seen. She wore a brown 
brocade, with a nice lawn kerchief pinned about 
her throat, and a white apron to correspond. Her 
short sleeves had broad ruffles just below the 
elbow, and gave way to black lace mits tied up 
with care. On her head was a lace cap, with a 
very rich border ; and a black-velvet hood, which 
partly covered this, and was tied under her chin 
by a broad black ribbon, completed her dress. 
She received us warmly, and told me almost 
immediately that she was sitting in the Lady 
Ursula's dinner- chair, and at the head of her 
table. Her servants, she continued, sat below 
the steps; and the salt-cellar rested between 
them and their lady. I suppose I looked cu- 
rious ; for I should not have dared to ask a ques- 
tion of so stately a personage : yet she went on 
to tell me that all the flowers in the garden had 
been planted by the Lady Ursula, and so long 



LONG LANE. . 271 

ago, that they were the first ever seen in the 
Grants. 

" Then, giving me a few directions, Madam 
Whipple continued her talk with my mother, 
leaving me to find amusement for myself. I 
ran first into the entry, where it was almost too 
dark for me to make out the figures, on a faded 
tapestry, of the ofi*ering-up of Isaac, which 
the Lady Ursula had wrought, and hung there. 
In the kitchen I was astonished by the sight of 
a heavy mangle, and the enormous jaws of the 
old fire-place, against each jamb of which was 
built a low stone seat. Timidly creeping to- 
ward the nearer of these, I peeped up the chim- 
ney, and saw the strange old wheels and tackle 
of a dilapidated smoke-jack. From one corner of 
the room swung out a long crane of ash-wood ; 
and suspended from the end of it by a chain 
was something that looked like an iron butter- 
boat, with a bit of twisted rag lying over its 
lip. This was the kitchen lamp, in which all 
the fatty waste of the family was burnt. Not 
being able to puzzle out the figures on the dingy 
coat of arms over the mantle, I ran into the 
garden. I never saw so fine a garden as that. 
The currants, gooseberries, and lilacs were all 
matted together; and such a profusion of un- 



272 LONG LANE. 

weeded roses and tulips was never crowded into 
so small a space. I was not long in finding my 
way to the old summer-house. Covered with 
moss, and propped up by old garden -pots, it 
looked as if Nature had adopted it, and made 
it part of the soil on which it stood. The river 
washed its walls. I climbed its crazy seat ; 
and, though I have seen the grand ancestral 
halls of the Lady Ursula since, I shall never 
forget, dear Mary, how much I enjoyed that 
afternoon, watching the white -winged boats 
glancing in the sun up and down the dear Pis- 
cataqua. 

" At last, my mother called me ; and though I 
hurried to her, as the children of those days 
were wont, I could not help stopping to look at 
a strange sort of a saddle that hung in the shed. 
It was broad, and had an opening on the upper 
side as if to accommodate some protuberance of 
the animal. It was hung with rich brass orna- 
ments ; and on a panel, bronzed with time, I 
saw the crest of the Lady Ursula. While I stood 
gazing, the sleepy servant came to find me, and 
told me that, long before there were any horses 
in the country, the Lady Ursula rode upon a 
cow." 

" grandmother ! is it there now ? Can I 
go to see it?'^ 



LONG LANE. 273 

" There are others like it, Mary ; but this was 
destroyed in the fire which swept, a few years 
later, over Madam Whipple's deserted home.'' 

^^ And did you tiever find out any more about 
the Lady Ursula, grandmother?" 

'^ Oh, yes ! " answered the old lady, sighing ; 
^^ and as you have her blood in your veins, and 
something of her faithful spirit too, you shall 
hear it some day. I will not forget the odd 
things you like to hear ; for your old grand- 
mother cannot live long to tell you stories." 

" Dear grandmother ! " and the girl dropped 
her knitting to come and sit at the old lady's 
feet. It was near sunset ; and the long shadows 
from the great elm, which drooped by the par- 
sonage gate, fell softly over her brow. 

It was some hours later. The tea equipage 
had been carried away ; and behind the tall 
screen of greenish silk, in the far corner of the 
room, one tiny lamp attempted in vain to hide 
the moonlight. It streamed broadly into the 
room, illuminating the pleasant old lady in her 
chair, and the young girl who now rested against 
the window sill. Before them lay the quaint 
old garden, whose useful vegetables had come 
up in fancy beds, set round with borders of 

18 



274 LONG LANE. 

pansies, marigolds, and poppies. The latter 
bowed their flaunting colors to a gentle breeze 
which was coming up the mouth of the river. 
Those who stood there saw the distant waves 
as they broke against the beach in the moon- 
light. " Now, dear grandmother ! '^ and the girl 
turned with an appealing look. 

^^ Well^ Mary, the Lady Ursula was the daugh- 
ter of Lord Thomas Cutts, of Grondale Abbey, 
England. At a very early age, she was betrothed 
to a Capt. Fowler in the army. Her father dis- 
approved of the match ; but the entreaties of a 
wife whom he idolized overcame his reluctance. 
Every thing was prepared for the wedding, 
when disturbances on the coast of Algiers sum- 
moned Capt. Fowler away. It was thought best 
to defer the ceremony ; and for a whole year 
the disappointment of the Lady Ursula was 
soothed by the tender letters which informed 
her of her lover's safety. At last came the ter- 
rible news that he had fallen in battle ; and the 
severe illness which this occasioned her daugh- 
ter so tried the constitution of Lord Thomas!s 
wife, that she soon drooped and died. The am- 
bition of Ursula's father pointed the way to a 
wealthier alliance ; but, ere she ceased to strug- 
gle in secret with her sorrow, a sudden accident. 



LONG LANE. 275 

/■ 

terminating his life, gave her new subjects of 
thought. The estate of Grondale was entailed 
upon her oldest brother. Soon after her father's 
death, the immense property of her mother hav- 
ing been divided between herself and a brother, 
they decided to seek a fortune in the New 
World. Lady Ursula's trials had given her a 
distaste to the gay society of her home, and 
they obtained a grant of land from Sir Fer- 
nando Gorges." 

" In what year was that, grandmother ? " 
" I do not know, my child : it seems difiScult 
to ascertain. Some grants of land were made to 
Gorges as early as 1606 ; but I do not think any 
north of the Merrimack was made before 1622. 
It may have been about 1624 when the Lady 
Ursula set sail. Many a severe trial had the 
lady in crossing the broad sea, and long enough 
she found it ere she erected what could be called 
a comfortable shelter for her family. The grant 
secured to Major Cutts two islands adjoining 
the shore, and the tract of land now called 
" Long Lane.'' He took possession of the islands, 
which, on account of the unsettled state of the 
country, he connected with the mainland by 
draw-bridges. At night these were raised to 
protect the inhabitants from the Indians ; by 



276 LONG LANE. 

day they were lowered to permit the inhabi- 
tants to go to their work. The people who 
settled this part of the country, my dear Mary, 
were of noble families, and lived in lordly style. 
New England could boast no others like them, 
and Virginia but very few. Major Cutts soon 
erected a large and convenient dwelling, with a 
reception-room capable of holding fifty or sixty 

guests." 

^^ Were you ever in it, grandmother ? " 

" No, dear ; but, when I was a little girl, my 
grandmother described to me her early home. 
The arms of the family decorated the panels; 
and tapestry, wrought by the young ladies, 
covered the walls. On the mantel were some 
vases of colored glass, and some silver branches 
for candles. In one corner of it stood an ancient 
escritoire. It was always open ; and there lay 
upon it a heavy armorial seal of silver, which 
was made into spoons, my dear Mary, on my 
marriage." 

" grandmother ! " 

'^ Hush, child ! you have eaten curds with 
them a hundred times. The floor Avas waxed 
till it shone like glass. Some years after the 
house was built, the family accounts show that 
Major Cutts had thirty cows, several hundred 



LONG' LANE. 277 

sheep, and many horses. Every lady in the 
family had a horse and side-saddle, and they 
had soon a fine pleasure-boat.'' 

'•'Did they have no minister, grandmother ? '' 
said Mary in some astonishment. 

^^ Not yet, my dear : there was no Queen's 
Chapel, and Portsmouth was called Strawberry 
Bank then. A domestic chaplain read service 
for the family, morning and evening, and on 
Sundays." 

'^ Were there any children, grandmother ? " 

^' Yes, child ; and they were taught all neces- 
sary matters by their mother and the chaplain. 
They also learned to spin from a thrifty hand- 
maid of Madam Cutts; and superintended, as 
they grew older, the affairs of the dairy. 

''Well, dear grandmother, the Lady Ursula 
did not live on the island." 

" No : she went, as I have told you, to the 
mainland. It was a long time before the place 
assumed the form in which I saw it. But wealth 
gave her ample power. She had brought from 
Europe twenty men-servants and a large num- 
ber of female domestics. In a few years, her 
house was richly furnished ; vistas were cut 
through the trees ; and smooth lawns, or beds 



278 LONG LANE. 

of rare exotics, took the place of straggling wild- 
flowers and half-burned stumps.'' 

'^ How tedious she must have found it ! " said 
Mary. 

'^ I do not think so, child. The Lady Ursula 
had a large family to superintend. She was a 
religious woman, and she did not neglect her 
duty to her household. It w^as her sweet voice 
that led the morning and evening prayer. It 
was her white hand that presented the bitter 
draught to the wood-cutter or housemaid pros- 
trated by fever. It was her clear intelligence 
that forestalled every danger, withstood every 
difficulty, and soon turned Long Lane into a 
' garden of delight.' " 

^^ Dear Lady Ursula ! What made her call it 
Long Lane ? " 

" After they had been some years in the 
Grants, one of Major Cutts's children was to 
be married ; and the major was to give a grand 
entertainment for her, in honor also of his own 
wedding-day. Sad as she felt, and grievous as 
had been the disappointment of her own early 
life, the Lady Ursula never refused to interest 
herself in the pleasures of those about her. A 
tender affection for her beautiful niece induced 
her to transplant to the island her finest bed 



LONG LANE. 279 

of tulips."^ It was a warm evening in June that 
she stood upon her lawn superintending the ope- 
ration. When it was over, she put her arm 
within that of her favorite attendant, a strong- 
minded and intelligent girl, and turned toward 
the river. She was still young. The dark curl 
of her lover still nestled against her yearning 
heart ; and, as she withdrew it to press it anew 
to her lips, she said bitterly, half hiding her 
face in the bosom of the faithful girl, ^ Would 
to God it were all over, and yon silvery waves 
were singing me to my last sleep ! ' 

" ' Cheer up, my lady,' spoke the stout heart 
of Hannah Illsley ; ^ cheer up. Tis a long lane 
that has no turning.' 

^^ Perhaps the good girl had heard of the 
pointed attentions of the governor of a neigh- 
boring Province. Be this as it may, her words 
did not have the effect she anticipated. Her 
lady smiled sadly, and, lifting herself up, glanced 
rapidly over the broad hills she called her own. 

^^ ^ It is true, my faithful Hannah,' she said : 
^ life has been a long, dark lane enough, since 
the hour of his departure ; and I may fitly con- 
tinue to dwell in such.' 

* This statement is actually preserved in writing among the 
family traditions. 



280 LONG LANE. 

^' And from that hour she called her pretty- 
place ' Long Lane.' '^ 

The old lady paused ; for the moonlight glit- 
tered on the tears that fell fast over Mary's 
knitting. ^' Come, cheer up, child/' she re- 
sumed : " you shall hear about the wedding 
fete before you sleep, that you may dream of 
dancing to your heart's content. I will finish 
the sad story of the lady, in the broad summer 
noon to-morrow. For a whole week, all the 
servitors on the two domains had been busied 
in preparing for the great occasion. The grass 
at the island had been combed and cut until it 
was as smooth as velvet. The walks leading up 
from the river had been nicely gravelled, and 
fresh borders of wholesome box enclosed and 
shaded the Lady Ursula's pet tulips. The family 
were early astir. For the first time in her life, 
the Lady Ursula had put on the dress prepared 
for her bridal ; and as Hannah Illsley shook out 
the folds in the long train of glittering satin, 
and laced the close bodice over her swelling 
breast, she saw a strange bloom on her lady's 
cheek, and felt that it was a tear which gave 
the lustre to her eye. The Lady Ursula wore 
no powder ; and, over the glossy braids of her 
dark hair, the lovely attendant fastened, more 



LONG LANE. 281 

like a matron's cap than a bride's veil, some 
folds of costly lace. She had spent the night 
at the island ; and hearing the first notes of 
^ God save the king/ from Billy Ball's violin, 
she went down to the lawn, where her brother 
was standing. The major wore a suit of brown 
velvet, laced with gold, and a wig that would 
have covered twenty empty modern heads. 
Madam Cutts stood beside him. She wore a 
skirt of plum-colored damask, with a stomacher 
of white and silver. Double lace ruffles fell at 
each elbow, and her cap and hood were richly 
trimmed with the same. I am afraid you would 
have laughed, Mary, if you had looked down 
and seen that she wore black velvet shoes with 
diamond buckles, and bright-blue silk stockings." 

'^ grandmother ! she ought to have be- 
longed to Lady Montagu's set.'' 

^' Madam Cutts knew more about butter than 
books," returned the old lady, smiling. " One of 
her daughters wore a bright-yellow brocade, 
that was made over for me when I was eight 
years old." 

" A yellow brocade, with your light hair and 
blue eyes ! " said Mary. 

^^ Well," said the old lady, laughing again, 
'^ nobody thought much of that then. But the 



282 LONG LANE. 

major^s company must not be kept waiting. A 
drummer had joined Billy Ball ; and together 
they thundered forth a welcome to a neighbor- 
ing chaplain in his gown and cassock, and his 
lady in brown damask. Old General Atkinson's 
scarlet velvet was relieved by the white damask 
skirts of his daughters. The governor followed, 
in black velvet ; while his lady hung on his arm, 
in a pink taffety trimmed with silver. The ladies 
wore hoops, high-heeled shoes, and head-dresses 
as high as a common house.'' 

" grandmother ! " said Mary, ^^ I cannot let 
you say that, even in the dark. I fed you 

'^ My dear child," said the old lady with mock 
solemnity, ^^ were they not several stories high ? 
and may I not tell one in describing them ? 
Out of their upper windows floated long ban- 
ners of Brussels lace, that descended to the 
waist. When the guests approached the major, 
they Avere announced by an usher, and offered 
cake, fruit, and sack on a silver tray. After 
remaining near him for a time, they wandered 
round the island or boated in parties on the 
river. At last, they were called to dinner, and 
the family chaplain spread his hands over the 
board. ^ God ! ' he said, while the impatient 



LONG LANE. 283 

company feared to be detained too long, — ^ 
God ! thy mercies have been so abundant, that 
to enumerate them is too great a task for time. 
Wilt thou intrust that work to us in eternity ? ^ 
And, sitting down, he bade them welcome to the 
table. At one end stood a large haunch of beef ; 
at the other, chickens, hams, tongue, and vege- 
tables. Then came ducks and fish, that were 
alive that morning : these were afterwards 
cleared away for the dessert. High in the 
centre of the table stood a silver tub, that held 
four gallons ; and rising from its polished sides, 
like an immense pyramid of new-fallen snow, 
were the frosted pancakes. Madam Cutts^s es- 
pecial pride. On one side of it stood the boiled 
plum-pudding, beleaguered by custards and jel- 
lies ; and on the other, a tasty floating island, 
representing a ship at sea. An immense bowl of 
punch and a silver ladle were at every guest^s 
command. It was the boast of Major Cutts, 
that nothing was consumed on the island that 
day, save sugar and spirits, that had not been 
produced there, — a boast that has never been 
echoed, I fancy, by any of his descendants. 
They staid two hours at table, and were called 
out upon the lawn to partake of chocolate, 
cakes, and cheese. ^^ 



284 LONG LANE. 

^' Why, grandmother, did they have no tea ? " 

" No, my child ; nor till long afterward. The 
first tea that was drunk in Maine was, however, 
made on the island. One of the young ladies 
was returning from school, in Massachusetts, with 
a daughter of Governor Vaughan. A severe 
storm detained her at Portsmouth several days ; 
and at the governor's table she was first offered 
tea. Ashamed to own that she had never seen 
it, she followed Madam Vaughan's example ; 
and, adding the sugar and cream, carried it to 
her lips. She purchased a pound of tea, for 
which she gave a guinea, and sent to Boston 
for some cups and saucers." 

''' How strange that seems ! " said Mary, laugh- 
ing. 

"Yes,'' said her grandmother; "but now you 
may put up your needles. Your father is wait- 
ing for his bowl of milk; and then it will be 
high time you were asleep.'' 

Mary sighed, but put away her work, and 
laid the family Bible on a little table by the 
lamp. In the mean time, her grandmother shut 
the window, and placed beside it a large china 
bowl filled with milk, — a far safer beverage 
than the pint of sack with which many of the 
minister's brethren of that day were accustomed 
'o put op their " night-cap." 



LONG LANE. 285 



The sun had risen brightly, the humble 
duties of the morning had been performed, 
and the minister gone his daily round among 
the sick and poor upon the fishermen's beach. 
Mary was once more at the window with her 
grandmother. The old lady sat beside a huge 
basket of long stockings, and Mary had in her 
lap some blue violets gathered from the hedges. 
She was taking ofi" the sepals of the calyx ; for 
they were to be made into a simple remedy 
for sore throats. 

" The sun shines bright enough to-day/' said 
she at last. '^ You will have no better chance 
to tell your sad story, grandmother.'' 

" I hardly like to tell it to you, pet," said the 
old lady. '^ I was thinking, this very mornino^, 
how like you are to the picture of the Lady 
Ursula which hangs in my dressing-room. I had 
hard work to prevent your father from calling 
you by her name." 

'^ I am sorry he did not, grandmother. Some- 
how, it makes me think of a distant convent on 
a high rock near the sea, mournful music of 
evening bells, and peasants at their aves on 
their knees." 

^^Ay," said her grandmother, shuddering; 



286 LONG LANE. 

'^ and of an early grave. But to the story, 
child. When the guests were gone, and Billy 
Ball and the drummer were seated to discuss a 
substantial supper, Hannah Illsley missed the 
Lady Ursula. Depressed beyond her wont, she 
had decided to return to the Lane that night. 
The moon was up, and her carriage had been a 
long time waiting, till at length her maid grew 
anxious. Inquiries ran rapidly round; for the 
very dogs loved that noble lady. At last, one 
of her servants was found, who said that he 
had brought her some letters at least two hours 
before. They had come by horseback mail from 
Strawberry Bank, as they used to call the town 
of Portsmouth ; and she had gone to the shore 
to read them. The family were immediately 
scattered ; and it was not long before Major 
Cutts himself discovered her insensible form 
upon the bank. In her hand lay a letter from 
her long-lost lover. He had been taken prisoner 
by the Algerines : but the war was over ; ex- 
changes were at last effected ; and in those 
days of slow travelling, when there was scarce 
one daily coach between Oxford and London, he 
had hurried as well as he could to Grondale 
Abbey.^^ 
^^ grandmother ! how glad I am ! " 



LONG LANE. 287 

" And so was the Lady Ursula/' said the old 
lady, darning away ; ^^ and that was the reason 
that her blood stopped flowing, and she lay for 
hours, as if she were dead, on the floor of the 
banquet - room. At last, she came to herself, 
and began to comprehend her happiness ; and 
when, on the afternoon of the next day, the 
major laid her in a litter supported on the 
shoulders of trusty attendants, while a guard 
of her own servants led the way to Long Lane, 
he whispered, ^ Cheer up, my sweet Ursula ; 
cheer up. Wait till the haying is over, and 
we will have a month's holiday to usher in such 
a Christmas festival as the Province never saw.' 
And so the Lady Ursula determined. With a 
joyous heart, she made her preparations ; and, 
like a girl of eighteen, moved among her maidens. 
All day long, the sweet notes of her voice rung 
through the Long Lane, that had now found 
a turning. It was, as I have said, the haying 
season. July had come with its hurry and its 
heat. The colonel was expected every hour; 
and, leaving her maidens busy in preparation 
for his coming, the Lady Ursula went out one 
morning in a carriage, alone, to take refresh- 
ments to the haymakers, who were several miles 
away. The bread was placed upon the grass; 



288 LONG LANE. 

and, glancing round upon the happy faces of 
her assembled servants, words of heart-felt bless- 
ing thrilled joj^ously upon her lips. Uplifting 
her hands, she looked towards heaven ; but the 
tones that should have followed never reached 
a mortal ear. She fell, struck to the earth by 
the tomahawk of an Indian.'^ 

Mary turned very pale : at last she said, 
'' How could God let her die ? " 

'^ It may have been a mercy, my dear child,'^ 
said the old lady, wiping her glasses; for they 
always grew dim when she told this story. ^^ It 
may have been a mercy. The Lady Ursula 
was fit for heaven ; and sojourning among the 
heathen could hardly have tended to make the 
colonel so.'' 

Mary was silent. She was very well satisfied 
with a colonel who had remained faithful through 
years of imprisonment, and had followed his lady 
to a new world. 

^' And what became of the men ? '' she asked 
at length. 

" They were all butchered on the spot/' an- 
swered her grandmother. " One fleeter than 
the rest swam the river, and alarmed the major. 
When he arrived, the house had been rifled and 
the barns were in flames; but the enemy had 



LONG LANE. 289 

gone. The massacre was so terrible, that the 
bodies were interred where they lay, and a plain 
stone was erected to mark out the lady's resting- 
place. '^ 

"And the colonel?'' 

"He re-embarked for his native land, my 
dear." 

" Poor man ! " said Mary. " I wonder if he 
lived alone all his days." 

The old lady smiled a little, rather more than 
she was willing the young girl should see : but 
she answered quietly, " I think not, my dear ; for 
in my grandfather's time, who was judge of pro- 
bate, a descendant of his visited this country in 
search of Lady Ursula's will, and claimed the 
estate which had long before been purchased by 
Colonel Whipple. Nothing, however, could be 
done about it." 

At this moment, a quick military step was 
heard without. Mary started ; and far over the 
nicely polished floor fell the blue violets she had 
been picking. The uniform of a British officer 
brightened the doorway. " Ah, bonny Mary 
Stevens ! was there none to guess that the 
shadow of a young love had already fallen over 
thy brow?" 



19 



II. 

PEPPERELL HOUSE; 

OR, A GLIMPSE OF MARY STEYENS'S YOUTH. 



" Near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled, 
And still where many a garden-flower grows wild, — 
There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, 
The Tillage preacher's modest mansion rose." 

Goldsmith. 



r¥lHE parsonage at Kittery Point stood upon 
-*- gently rising ground. A long, low range 
of rooms, it sloped down to the very sward at 
the back. Ample chimneys rose from its cen- 
tre, and the absence of modern piazzas was 
well atoned for by the shade of the heavy elms 
that clustered about it. In front, a neat yet 
somewhat fanciful court-yard opened upon a 
small garden, whose mixed beds of flowers, 
fruit, and vegetables, were bordered by box, and 
arranged in so charming a manner, that it 
seemed a wholly ornamental rather than a use- 
ful spot. 

Within the hall, the nicely sanded floor 
and the tall English clock reminded many a 



PEPPERELL HOUSE. 291 

schoolboy of the next generation of a passage in 
the " Deserted Village." To the right, a few 
steps led to the " Apostle^s Chamber/' — a 
guest-room alwaj^s kept in readiness in a mini- 
ster's house of that period, when no bolts or 
bars forbade a stranger to enter after the family 
had retired to rest. It was distinguished, in 
this case, from other rooms of the same sort, 
only by an inviting air that seemed to hang 
round the white curtains, and gleam from the 
very depths of the oval mirror which hung 
between the windows. To the left, the slanting 
rays of an afternoon sun streamed through a 
door which led to the common sitting-room of 
the family. A few pots of flowers were arranged 
on the broad window-seats. High leathern- 
backed chairs stood against the wall ; and a 
long sofa, of the same angular sort, stretched 
across one corner of the room. By the side of 
the minister's arm-chair, in front of one of the 
windows, was a light stand, covered with heavy 
books ; while in a recess, under a mirror hung 
with prisms, stood a small octagon table, deco- 
rated with a service of rare china. Over the 
fireplace were pleasant portraits of the minister 
and his wife, — a beautiful woman, who had 
died long before, leaving him the sole charge of 



292 PEPPERELL HOUSE. 

the daughter already introduced to the reader. 
The hearth was as bright and red as paint could 
make it, and the steel tops of the jetty fire-irons 
gleamed in the sunset like veritable diamonds. 
So, at least, thought Arthur Blount; for he 
shaded his ej^es as he entered the low doorway, 
and stood at Mary Stevens^s side before she had 
raised hers from the brush and bell and tassel 
attached to the jamb by which she stood. 

They were both silent for a moment. Far out 
before them, in all the radiance of sweet New- 
England summer, stretched one of the loveliest 
landscapes in the world. The blue Piscataqua 
rippled away toward the ocean. Beyond it rose 
the few spires of Portsmouth, clouded by foliage 
of the most delicious green. Long, fairy-like 
bridges, connecting Newcastle and its forts with 
the town, shot out toward the east ; and the 
pleasant reaches of Kittery and Rye shaded off 
the picture on either side. 

Arthur gazed upon all this ; and, as Mary^s 
eye involuntarily sought his, she read its asking. 
Throwing a light hood and mantle of black 
silk over her shoulders, they went out together. 
Arthur would have gone in the direction of the 
beach ; but Mary's steps turned, as if of course, 
toward the narrow, grassy path through the 



PEPPERELL HOUSE. 293 

heavy woods, called then, and now, the Lover's 
Lane. She had paused a moment to gather a 
few white flowers, when a sudden step broke 
the stillness ; and a man dressed in black, slen- 
der, and bent as if under the pressure of some 
heavy sorrow, glided rapidly by her, — so ra- 
pidly, that, in the late afternoon, Mary only 
wondered that she did not see his face. 

" Who is that ? " she asked, with a feeling of 
strange oppression. 

^^ Is it possible,'' said Blount, with a somewhat 
incredulous air, ^^ that you have never seen 
' Handkerchief Moody ' ? " 

'^ Mr. Moody, of York ! " exclaimed Mary, 
turning pale ; ^^ and he had the black veil over 
his face ! No : I have often climbed upon his 
knees when I was a child ; and frequently, when 
he comes to visit Sir William, he brings me some 
Indian trinket in memory of those times : but I 
have never seen him in one of these fits. What 
can be the cause of so deep a depression ? " 

^^ I have heard," replied Arthur, ^^ that, when 
he was about ten years old, he accidentally shot 
his favorite playmate. The convulsions which 
followed the accident were only a prelude to a 
brain fever, and he has ever since been subject 
to occasional anguish of this sort. He is Judge 



294 PEPPERELL HOUSE. 

of the Common Pleas ; and I have seen him on 
the bench trembling in every limb, with his 
black veil over his face. On one occasion, he 
said to Mr. Sewall, " If the justice of God were 
but evident, 1 should be at that bar rather than 
on this bench, and atone, by a violent death, for 
the innocent blood I have shed.' '' 

Mary shuddered. " Such remorse may be 
natural,'' she said at last ; " but I cannot think it 
is right in the eyes of Him who loves all the 
children of men, and scatters so lavishly, even in 
these hidden forest-paths, his treasures of joy 
and light." 

^^ No," answered the young officer ; " but 
Moody belongs to a susceptible and eccentric 
family. His brother is Sir William's chap- 
lain." 

^* I know him very well," said Mary, smiling. 
'^ Did he not sail for Louisburg with a hatchet 
over his shoulder, with which he threatened to 
cut down the images in the French churches? " 

" Yes ; and it was he who once astonished all 
his hearers by being guilty of a short grace. It 
Avas at the great entertainment given to the 
officers of the expedition after Sir William's 
return." 

" I very much doubt his right to the honors of 



PEPPERELL HOUSE. 295 

that grace/' returned Mary. " I have heard my 
grandmother quote the very same, as given at a 
far older entertainment on Cutts's Island.'^ 

" There is nothing new under the sun/^ re- 
sponded the young man ; ^^ but truly, if it was 
not his own, his memory served him well. I 
have heard that he refuses all salary ; and so 
his wife and children often suffer for the neces- 
saries of life.'' 

^^ That is one of his many peculiarities," re- 
plied Mary. " He is one of those who may be 
said to commit high-treason against Virtue, he 
makes her service so painful a matter. But his 
brother — is this sadness growing upon him ? 
He was not wont to leave home during its 
attacks." 

" I think it is," replied Arthur : " for he is on 
the point of quitting the bench to become a 
minister ; and he assumes the veil so much more 
frequently than he used, that many people think 
he will end by wearing it altogether." 

" He has a gentler nature than the reverend 
chaplain," she said; but what she might have 
added was cut short by the approach of a horse- 
man, followed at some distance by one of the 
Pepperell livery. One glance at the broad, bluff 
person of the rider, clad in the long, embroidered 



296 PEPPERELL HOUSE. 

waistcoat of the time, and made more portly 
than was necessary by the padded velvet and 
stiflf military decorations, and Mary would have 
passed him with a gentle ^' Good even/' But 
Sir William Pepperell threw himself off his 
horse, and approached her cordially. He would 
have taken her cheeks between his hands ; but 
Mary drew back with dignity. 

^' I did not know you were returned, Sir Wil- 
liam,'' she began. 

^' And how should you ? " he retorted, less 
cheerfully. " It is six months since we began to 
miss the ^ little Byron ' at Pepperell House, — 
six whole months, at least, since she inquired in 
person after her old friends." 

^^ You wrong me. Sir William," gently re- 
sponded the young girl ; though Blount could 
see that her soft eyes were filling with tears. 
" You wrong me. Dr. Stevens must surely have 
explained to you the nature of the instructions 
he has laid upon his daughter." 

" It matters not, it matters not," returned the 
knight bluffly. " Instructions that can be disre- 
garded for the sake of a young popinjay like 
Blount might well be forgotten in behalf of an 
old friend like me." 

" The young popinjay is much obliged to you," 
rejoined Arthur, laughing. 



PEPPERELL HOUSE. 297 

But Mary threw back her hood, and the dig- 
nity of her manner admitted no further trifling. 
^^ Good even, Sir WilHam/' she said, in her 
usual tone ; " good even. You will apologize 
to your young friend to-morrow for having taken 
a cup too much to-night. If you are bound to 
Pepperell House, you may carry the news of my 
speedy coming. If the moon be bright, we shall 
call on Lady Pepperell before we return. '^ 

In some discomfiture, the jovial commander 
mounted his horse ; and Blount followed Mary, 
as she passed hastily on. 

" Sir William is just returned from a visit to 
his friend General Waldron,'' she said apologe- 
tically. '^ It is rumored that their friendship is 
to be cemented by a union between Andrew 
Pepperell and the generaPs daughter.'^ 

" A girl worthy of a better fate,'' muttered 
Arthur Blount. 

But Mary did not hear him, and she continued : 
'^ I think you have never seen the silver service 
presented by the city of London to our gallant 
knight. Have you any objection to taking a 
short cut through the- woods, and reaching 
Pepperell House soon after Sir William him- 
self?" 

Arthur consented. 



298 PEPPERELL HOUSE. 

For some months, Dr. Stevens had withdrawn 
Mary from the gay English society w^hich fre- 
quented Pepperell House. There was some- 
thing in its rude and jovial tone, something 
perhaps in the hilarious manners of the knight 
himself, that he almost dreaded for his gentle 
girl ; but far beneath all the reasons which he 
offered to his daughter lay the fear of having 
her withdrawn from his own protecting love, to 
be sheltered by that of a foreigner. Nor w^as 
this solely a selfish objection. Dr. Stevens 
could have steeled his heart to this most diffi- 
cult duty of self denial ; but already he saw 
tokens of the approaching dissatisfaction, which 
was to issue in revolution, and sever the Colo- 
nies from their mother. Nurtured as Mary had 
been, he felt confident that he should secure her 
greatest happiness by such a course. No words 
had been exchanged of late between father and 
daughter; but Mary felt sure that she under- 
stood his washes. 

Many of her admirers had not found it diffi- 
cult to follow her from Sir William^s stately 
mansion to her own quiet home ; but, one after 
another, they found good reasons for discon- 
tinuing their visits, until only Arthur Blount 
remained their occasional guest. Often did Dr. 



PEPPERELL HOUSE. 299 

Stevens wish that some blemish on the j^oung 
man's character, or some slight irregularity, 
would give him a good excuse for checking the 
intercourse of the young people ; but Marj^ her- 
self passed gently over, in his case, familiarities 
that had raised an effectual barrier between her 
and others. No word of love had either of them 
spoken : but, when Dr. Stevens met Arthur at 
dinner on this day, a cloud stole over his coun- 
tenance ; and, as soon as the usual meal was 
over, he had withdrawn to his study, whither 
his daughter followed him. What passed there, 
no one ever knew : but, some hours after, Mary 
came forth, looking more pale and quiet than 
usual ; and so Arthur found her, standing by the 
chimney, too absorbed in thought to feel the fa- 
tigue of her strange position. 

It was quite dark when they reached the 
large, square mansion which went by the name of 
Pepperell House. All that wealth could do had 
been done ; but that could not deprive the 
building of a somewhat provincial air. A firm 
wall, built of English brick, surrounded the 
grounds, and protected the young fruit-trees 
from the easterly gales. Quaint hedges of box, 
cut into grotesque shapes, looked, in the pure 
moonlight, like inlaid bands of jet; and many 



300 PEPPERELL HOUSE. 

evergreen-trees, standing about the courtyard, 
were indebted far more to the gardener's shears 
than to any law of nature for their peculiar 
forms. 

As they approached the broad, well-lighted 
hall, a brilliant, graceful figure bounded out, 
exclaiming, in a somewhat masculine tone, 
" And so my little Harriet has come at last, 
— well attended, by my faith ! '^ 

Mary checked the noisy flow of words to 
introduce to her companion Elizabeth Pepperell, 
now Mrs. Colonel Sparhawk, who had been 
absent during his previous visits to Kittery. " I 
have bribed my escort by a promise to show 
him Sir William's service of plate/' she said. 

'^ It is a shame that you should compel me to 
say that no servitor of yours ever needed a 
bribe," replied Elizabeth Sparhawk. ^^ But come 
in to Lady Pepperell: of course, she does not 
expect you. Let me tell you though, Young 
Discretion, Dr. Stevens has been here to-day, 
and promised to send you to the bridal festivi- 
ties, will you, or will you not : do you hear ? " 

^^ I hear," replied Mary gently, ^^ and so does 
Captain Blount ; but whether he understands or 
no, it might befit Mrs. Sparhawk to inquire." 

'^ Lecturing before you are over the threshold, 



PEPPERELL HOUSE. 301 

by all that is comfortable ! Mamma/' conti- 
tinued the lively woman, stepping forward into 
what seemed an empty saloon, — " mamma, 
whom, of all strangers, is the very last you ex- 
pect?" 

At the end of the room, set in the strong 
light of a cluster of wax candles, stood a tall 
embroidery frame ; and, before Mrs. Sparhawk 
concluded, a tiny figure tripped down from a 
flight of steps behind it, and came forward to 
greet the guests. Lady PepperelPs form was 
so extremely small, that the broad lace ruffs 
which the fashion of the time compelled her to 
wear seemed completely to swallow up her per- 
son, and the heavy falls which drooped over her 
elbow entirely concealed her beautiful arm. 
Her face had a gentle, sweet expression ; and, 
when she spoke, her voice hardly rose above a 
whisper. 

"Elizabeth gives you her usual noisy wel- 
come,'' she said, as Mary stooped to kiss her; 
and then turned to greet Captain Blount. 

A slight rustling drew Mary's attention to the 
window, where, closely sheltered by the cur- 
tains, sat the person who had passed her in the 
woods. Whatever pain she felt at the moment, 
her womanly tact came to her aid, and accom- 



302 PEPPERELL HOUSE. 

plished all that modern science does in its treat- 
ment of the insane. Stepping lightly toward 
him, with her left hand she threw back the omi- 
nous veil ; while, with her right, she seized Mr. 
Moody's. " Are you playing hide-and-seek with 
me, my old friend ?'' she said; "or are times 
so changed, that I must buy trinkets to show 
my regard for you ? '' 

The light of sweet human love quivered over 
that pale face; tears started in the mournful 
eyes ; and, entirely forgetful of a mood that had 
been on him for days, the young man rose, and 
came forward with Mary to the company. Eli- 
zabeth Sparhawk caught her friend's kind inten- 
tion; and, as he passed her to bow low to 
Captain Blount, gently removed the barrier to 
human sympathy w^hich fluttered behind his 
head. A general conversation ensued. They 
all Avent together to look at the service of plate. 
Though small, it was very beautiful. A table 
of sohd silver, somewhat long for its breadth, 
sustained a miniature dinner-service of the same. 
The largest article, a soup-tureen holding about 
three pints, bore the arms of the city of Lon- 
don. The whole ajffair was elegantly engraved ; 
and, in the centre of the table, a panel bore an 
inscription in old English letters, purporting 



PEPPERELL HOUSE. 303 

that Sir William Pepperell, commander of the 
Provincial forces in New England, having re- 
duced the city of Louisburg in 1745, was 
knighted by George 11. for the same, and 
rewarded, on a subsequent visit to England, by 
this precious gift from the city of London. 
The reading of this inscription brought up bril- 
liant anecdotes of the siege; and Moody told, 
in a striking and graceful manner, touching- 
stories of the heroism of the young French 
girls, which brought tears to Elizabeth Spar- 
hawk's eyes. 

^' I shall expect you soon,'' she whispered, as 
she parted from Mary. '^ We are all gone Wal- 
dron-mad." 

Mary and Arthur pursued their way in silence, 
till she paused behind some rocks, that, jutting 
boldly up from the Point, sheltered them from 
all observers. Here it was necessary to part. 
Arthur's duties carried him toward the Fort. It 
was not far to the parsonage-gate, and Mary was 
safe among her own people. 

^^ Part ! " he repeated ; and, seizing her hand, 
drew her towards him. He did not speak ; but 
those dark, eloquent eyes entreated, if eyes ever 
did, for one sweet parting kiss. 

Mary read them truly by the light of the 



304 PEPPERELL HOUSE. 

moon, but drew very gently back. '^ There are 
those who would pretend to misunderstand you, 
dear Arthur/' she said ; " but I cannot. It must 
not be. You leave us in the morning : perhaps 
we shall never meet again.'' 

" I have never spoken to you of love/' replied 
Arthur, as soon as he could master his voice ; 
^^ but it was only because I could not do it with 
propriety. There is no barrier now. My uncle 
is dead. I go home to take possession of my 
estate : let me return to claim Mary Stevens for 
my wife." 

He did not see how her whole frame shivered 
as she spoke, nor hear the rapid beating of her 
heart. When she answered him, her voice was 
sweet and low : no faltering betrayed what she 
had suffered. '^ Dear Arthur, no words have 
passed between us ; but, if you think T love 
you, you think right. Yet there are causes 
which ought to separate us, and must. Forgive 
me if the voice in my heart has been too strong. 
If I have ever said ^ Stay,' when I should have 
said ^ Go,' I hoped, I thought — but it is all over 
now. Let us part as we have lived, nor give 
each other any pleasure which the experience of 
future years may change into a pang." 

'^ They may well call you Harriet Byron," 
thought Arthur: "prudent and cold indeed." 



PEPPERELL HOUSE. 305 

He was unjust, as men always are at such 
moments. Maty read his heart, and ft made 
her own ache. Before she could answer, he 
extended his arms, and said mournfully, " Once, 
dear Mary, once, before I leave you for ever ! " 

'^ To what purpose ? '' she answered hoarsely. 
" my friend ! it would not be difficult to lay 
my head upon your shoulder, and weep there 
till you had comforted me ; but at this moment, 
when I know that it is my duty to break every 
tie that unites us, why should I give you this 
new and strong one to my heart ? Should the 
time ever come when destiny shall unite either 
of us to another, will it not be best to remember 
this moment so ? " 

" And you can think calmly of such an hour, 
Mary ! '' 

" Not calmly, Arthur : God forbid ! Nothing 
at this moment clouds my soul but the thought 
of you. I will not wrong you. You shall not 
give me what you will one day wish to give 
your bride. And now farewell ! '' 

'' Cruel, cruel Dr. Stevens ! '' exclaimed the 
young man bitterly. 

^^ Not cruel, Arthur ; for he loves us both, 
and the time will come when we shall see it so. 

20 



306 PEPPERELL HOUSE. 

In the mean time; let us pray; and may God 
help ns ! '' 

For the first time, her voice faltered ; and now 
Arthur thought of her, not of himself. ^^Let 
me, at least, go home with you, Mary.'' 

" No, Arthur : I could not part with you there. 
Go, and God bless you ! '' 

He pressed her hand once, twice, thrice, to 
his impassioned lips, and strode away on the 
rocks. 

^' It is all over,'' thought Mary ; " and how 
dark this moonlight looks ! " 

She rose, and tried to climb the rocks : but 
the elastic strength of the young girl was gone ; 
and, crippled, bent, and faltering, she made her 
way to the parsonage. Prayers were over ; yet, 
strange to say, the minister yet sat beside his 
untasted bowl of milk. Mary would gladly 
have gone to her own room ; but she knew she 
must not. She did not throw off her hood, but 
went in to bid him " Good-night ! " 

^' A somewhat late hour this for solitary ram- 
bles," he said, coldly receiving her usual kiss. 

^' Father," she answered, ^^ I have not been 
alone, but doing what you believe to be my 
duty. God help me, if you are mistaken ! " 

He did not raise his eyes, or he would have 



PEPPERELL HOUSE. 307 

been alarmed to see how pale and ill she looked ; 
but the tone touched his heart, and he put his 
arms around her. She glided from them, and 
reached her chamber. 

• ••••••• 

More than a week had passed away. The sun 
rose gloriousl}^ from the bosom of the ocean, light- 
ing up, with tender, radiant gleams, the blue rip- 
ples of the Piscataqua, touching the tops of the 
trees with fire, and finally lingering like a halo 
round the snowy pillows of the bed where Mary 
Stevens was lying. She had been ill ever since 
her walk with Arthur. Her bodily frame had 
not proved strong enough to sustain her under 
a struggle so severe ; but Mary Stevens had a 
firm and pious mind. Having wholly decided to 
part with her lover, she deluded herself by no 
vain sophistries. Praying daily, '^ Lead me not 
into temptation,'' she did not walk into it of her 
own accord ; and her recovery was hastened by 
the clear and definite action of her own mind. 
This morning she lay with her hands clasped 
upon her breast, and her meek eyes turned 
toward the beach. Beautiful as the spring 
day might be, she was unconscious of its 
charms. She was thinking of Arthur, — of his 
future and her own. It seemed strange to 



308 PEPPERELL HOUSE. 

her, that, in the mercy of God, two beings, 
who loved Him and each other so well, should 
be called upon to separate. " However,'' she 
said to herself at last, " we cannot see the 
end from the beginning. It is neither marrying 
nor the not marrying that is the end of life ; not 
happiness nor misery : it is the growth of our 
spiritual nature. What should I do now, if 
I could not trust my Father in Heaven ? — if I 
did not believe that he would strengthen me to 
the end ? Is it not those whom God loveth that 
he chasteneth ? '' 

As she pondered thus, she thought of the 
Pepperell Family, and their long prosperity, — of 
him whom all the neighbors called the lucky 
Yankee boy. She remembered how often she 
had heard him say that he could travel from 
Kittery Point to Saco, without stepping off his 
own land, or eating any thing but his own game. 
She remembered how his mercantile success 
had culminated in the splendid events of the 
siege ; and she thought how proud he must have 
felt, when, after vindicating himself from the 
unjust aspersions of his enemies, he was knighted 
by the king's own hand, and received the thanks 
of the city of London. Now, she thought, all 
his honors were to be strengthened by the splen- 



PEPPERELL HOUSE. 309 

did marriage of his son. She thought of Lady 
Pepperell, whose mind was as small as her per- 
son ; of Sir William, who led a gay, external 
life, roughly hospitable indeed, but hardly bene- 
volent ; and she wondered if this were to go on 
for ever, — if such were, in truth, the persons 
whom God delighted to honor. More than once, 
her mind wandered from these speculations to 
the portrait of the Lady Ursula, which had been 
brought from her grandmother^s dressing-room, 
at her request. Her eyes were filling with sym- 
pathetic tears as she gazed ; when she heard a 
heavy step upon the stairs, and, hastily swallow- 
ing her emotion, composed herself in time to 
receive her father. His thin locks falling from 
under a black scull-cap, and the white bands 
which indicated his vocation, contrasted some- 
what oddly with his rich, brocaded dressing- 
gown. He came up to Mary's bedside, and she 
saw the traces of deep emotion upon his coun- 
tenance. 

'^ To-morrow is the day of the ordination ! '' she 
exclaimed. ^^ Are you going away ? '' 

^^ Yes, Mary ; I must leave you for a season : 
but I cannot go without telling you that Arthur 
is still in the neighborhood. '^ 

A flush rose to Mary's cheek. ^^ I am very 
sorry, dear father : why did he not go away ? '' 



310 PEPPERELL HOUSE. 

"He heard that you were ill, my daughter, 
and could not/' 

" father ! '^ The tears came at last, escap- 
ing from those thin, transparent lids, and running 
down over her pale cheeks. 

" My daughter,'^ said Dr. Stevens solemnly, 
" it is not yet too late. I may have asked of 
you more than you are able to do. God forbid 
that I should ! Do you wish to see Arthur 
again ? " 

In her heart, how ardently she wished ! But, 
when the hot tears had passed like rain, she 
lifted her poor aching head, and said, " It is no 
matter what I wish, dear father. The question 
is not, whether I am weak or strong; but what is 
my duty ? Leave me to do it.'' 

" But, Mary, I cannot lose you in the struggle. 
What if Arthur were here ? " 

" I should not see him." 

" Mary, he is here." 

" Dear father," said the poor girl, clasping 
her hands, " you do not know how much harder 
you make it all. Tell him that I love him ; but 
I cannot see him. Tell him I shall live, and not 
die ; and he must trust, as I do, in the Father 
above us both." 

And these were her last words to her lover. 



PEPPERELL HOUSE. 311 

Soon after, the morning prayers were said in 
her room ; and Mary asked her father to call on 
Lady Pepperell, as he went on his way to Bos- 
ton. " Let her come, and take me away in her 
coach/' said she. ^^ Neither Arthur nor I wish 
to do wrong ; but I am weak, and cannot trust 
myself. Let me go and comfort poor Mr. Moody, 
or help old Mrs. Rattray with her confections.'' 

" You are not strong enough, child," gently 
remonstrated her grandmother. 

^^ No, dear grandmother ; but I soon shall be. 
Change of air and scene, change of thought and 
occupation as well, — all these will do me 
good.'' 

Lady Pepperell came in a state coach that 
glittered with gay trappings ; and, attended by 
liveried servants, she carried the poor child 
away. It was as Mary predicted. As soon as 
she found that she could be of use to others, 
her vital strength returned. Preparations were 
making to receive the bride. Andrew's house, 
elegantly appointed for one at that period, was 
finished ; and, one afternoon, Mrs. Sparhawk 
called Mary to look at an elegant diamond ring 
which Andrew had just purchased. As she 
gazed upon the brilliant hoop, Mary Stevens' 
eyes grew dim. 



312 PEPPERELL HOUSE. 

" Perhaps I am very foolish/' she said in an- 
swer to Colonel Sparhawk's inquiring glance ; 
" but a wedding seems so very serious a thing to 
me, that I do not like to see you all so gay about 
it. Even as I look at this brilliant ring, I see 
black enamel taking the place of the bright gold, 
and ^ Obit ' written thereon." 

Elizabeth Sparhawk put her hands playfully 
over Mary's lips. " Hush, hush, you raven ! " she 
exclaimed. " You have borrowed Mr. Moody's 
black veil." 

But, alas ! the vision was prophetic. The 
next morning, Mary saw young Pepperell de- 
part. She herself assisted in packing into his 
saddle-bags the last decorations for the bride. 
In a few days she was to follow him, with Sir 
William and Lady Mary ; and the wedding was 
to be celebrated with a magnificence unknown 
in the Province. The gay nothings suitable to 
the occasion would not fall from her lips ; and 
Mrs. Sparhawk, who accompanied her brother, 
rallied her upon her distraction. 

^^ I do not think I am distracted," said Mary 
in reply to some inquiries of Lady Pepperell, 
after they were left alone. '^ I am in my sober 
senses, and they are crazy with the wine of joy. 
After my late experience, it is not wonderful 



PEPPERELL HOUSE. 313 

that I should think all happiness somewhat inse- 
cure/' 

Lady Pepperell sat musing for a few moments. 
'^ Mary/' said she at last, with the suddenness 
with which one welcomes a bright idea, — 
^' Mary, did you ever see the letter my father 
wrote me on my marriage?'' 

^^ No, madam." 

^' I will go and get it this very moment : it 
may do you good." And the active little woman 
tripped away. Lady Mary Pepperell had been 
the daughter of a certain wealthy merchant, — 
a Mr. Grove Hirst of Boston, New England, 
— who printed for her, and all young ladies, a 
certain letter, which, to his own thinking, indi- 
cated with precision the only road to matri- 
monial bliss. A copy of this letter — bound in 
sky-blue velvet, printed on white satin, and 
delicately clasped with gold — Lady Pepperell 
now put into Mary's hand. Nothing short of 
the strict nature of the Puritan school in which 
she had been reared would have enabled Mary 
to peruse this strange document with gravity. 
Descending to all the minutisB of female employ- 
ment, the author seemed to be deficient in all 
needful mental perspective. His good wife must 
never work one moment after dusk on Saturday 



314 PEPPERELL HOUSE. 

night ; never lay aside her knitting till she 
reached the middle of her needle ; must rise 
with the sun ; pass one hour every day with her 
housekeeper ; visit every apartment, from the 
garret to the cellar, at least once a week ; must 
attend to the brewing of her beer, the baking 
of her bread, and interest every member of her 
family in religious duties. 

^^ A proper climax,^' thought Mary as she read 
this last, -'but preceded by such a medley of 
instructions ! '^ And she wondered what would 
be her own father's thought if he were called 
to part with her. 

'^ I may not live to see your wedding-day, 
dear Mary,^' said the little lady affectionately ; 
" but put that book away, and let it remind you 
of me when the hour comes." 

• •■••• 

It was the second evening after Andrew Pep- 
perelPs departure. Mary had assisted Lady 
Pepperell and her maid to make the prepara- 
tions necessary for their own. A heavy north- 
east rain had set in, and detained Sir William in 
the town beyond his usual hour. His lady had 
retired to prepare for an early start. With a feel- 
ing of foreboding heavy at her heart, Mary sat 
down at her open Bible. For a day or two, she 



PEPPERELL HOUSE. 315 

had observed a gloom upon Sir William's counte- 
nance ; and, with her eyes fixed upon the signi- 
ficant words, ^^ For it was the preparation-day/' 
she sat trying to give her disjointed thoughts a 
form. Could it be possible that any thing was 
going wrong with Andrew ? Why did Sir Wil- 
liam look so black when Lady Mary asked at 
what hour she should order the coach? She 
knew but little of Andrew, and that not in his 
favor. What should she think of Sir William's 
hurrying to Portsmouth every day, the moment 
breakfast was over ; returning always in some- 
what less than full possession of himself? — 
he, the temperate Sir William ! Again her eye 
rested upon the words, '' For it was the pre- 
paration-day .'' 

At this moment, her quick ear caught the 
clatter of hoofs without. Thinking.only to greet 
the master of the house, she rose with her candle 
in her hand ; but, before she could reach it, the 
hall door flew open, and two figures in long 
riding-cloaks, drenched to the skin, stood before 
her. " Elizabeth ! Andrew ! '' was all that she 
could say; but not one word in answer. 

Andrew Pepperell seized the candle in her 
hand; and, with a face purpled and convulsed 
with passion, strode away to his room. Eliza- 



316 PEPPERELL HOUSE. 

beth, white as a ghost, sank upon the nearest 
chair. With a perfect disinterestedness that 
few women possess, Mary staid to ask no ques- 
tions. She rang for lights ; and, the moment 
they came, passed her arm gently round Eliza- 
beth Sparhawk^s waist, and led her to her own 
room. A warm bed, hot draughts, and the usual 
precautions of that period, could not prevent her 
teeth from chattering, while her whole frame 
shook. When every thing had been done, Mary 
asked, ^^ Where is Colonel Sparhawk ? " 

^^ Gone to meet Sir William." 

Mary went down to the housekeeper to beg 
that Lady Pepperell might not be disturbed. 
She found the servants all assembled in the 
hall. Looks of consternation were on their faces. 
No one seemed to know what to make of this 
sudden return. The servant who had gone with 
the riding -party was attending to the horses, 
and as little inclined to speak as the over-ridden 
animals themselves. Two hours went by, and 
Sir William came at last. Mary heard his sword 
clank against the stone pavement of the court- 
yard when he dismounted, and came to meet 
him. One glance told her that she and every- 
body had seen the last of the cheerful, jovial 
Sir William Pepperell. 



PEPPERELL HOUSE. 317 

A settled moroseness brooded over his fine 
countenance. He bent his shoulders as if they 
smarted under a recent blow ; and, when Mary 
feebly begged that Lady Pepperell might not 
be disturbed, he answered rudely, " No one 
need disturb her : let her sleep her last, quiet 
sleep." 

Colonel Sparhawk was pale, but calm. He 
followed Mary into the hall. 

*' Are there any questions it is proper I should 
ask?'' she said, looking timidly up into his face. 

"There is but little to tell you, Mary," he 
replied with his usual grave courtesy. " When 
we reached General Waldron's, we found the 
lady unwilling to receive us. Guests had al- 
ready arrived from a distance, and preparations 
were making on the most magnificent scale ; 
but at this last moment, said the lady, when 
she finally gave us an audience, she felt justified 
in withdrawing from an engagement to one 
whom she found to be absorbed in low company 
and low pleasures." 

"And Andrew?" 

" He answered not a word, asked no questions, 
made no defence." 

" God help him ! " ejaculated Mary. 

" Nay, let him rather help Sir William," re- 



/. 



318 PEPPERELL HOUSE. 

turned the colonel. ^^ It is no trifle, when a 
man has reached his years, to find himself and 
his family the sport of the country. As for 
Andrew, let him bake as he has brewed. I 
would have detained them both upon the road ; 
but the boy would not wait, and Elizabeth 
dreaded to have him meet his father wholly 
unprepared.'' 

^^ Poor Andrew ! '' said Mary, sighing. " It 
was but an ungentle reward for his long devo- 
tion, at the very best." She turned to go up 
stairs ; but those most unlucky saddle-bags ob- 
structed the way. She turned aside to put them 
under lock and key ; and, as she closed the 
press, heard the low rumbling of distant thun- 
der, and saw that the key glistened in the moon- 
light. Mary went to the window, and opened 
it. The wind had changed. A light southerly 
breeze came up the river, and the clouds were 
drifting rapidly before it. ^^ It will be a hot day 
to-morrow,'' she said to the old housekeeper as 
she turned away. 

• . • • • • 

Yes, it was a hot day, — a day long remem- 
bered in Portsmouth as the " hot Saturday." 
On this day, men dropped dead at their haying 
in the field, and horses before they reached 



PEPPERELL HOUSE. 319 

their stalls. Cattle lay with dry lips, gasping 
in the shade ; and the white waves caught a 
coppery glare from the hot atmosphere that 
mocked the very thought of coolness. Mary 
felt the heat at dawn. She was up and dressed 
when Lady PepperelPs bell rang, and answered 
it herself. It was hard to disturb the peaceful 
serenity of that child-like face. 

" Where is Sir William ? ^' was her first ques- 
tion when Mary entered. " I was too weary 
last night. I really believe it is after the hour 
at which I ordered the coach.'' 

^^ I should have called you/' answered Mary ; 
" but we are not going to the general's to-day." 

" Not going ! " And then all had to be ex- 
plained. She bore it as such women always do, 
silently grieving ; but exerted herself mean- 
while for the comfort of her daughter and hus- 
band. Most of all, she dreaded to see Andrew ; 
but she need not. When she went down, he 
had already gone on horseback to Portsmouth. 

Sir William yielded nothing to her gentle 
advances. The mortification stung him to the 
quick; and, when he spoke, it was but to mutter 
bitterly, ^' Would to God that he were dead ! " 
Elizabeth Sparhawk tossed restlessly upon her 
bed, her faithful husband watching beside her. 



320 PEPPERELL HOUSE. 

Mary, like an angel of comfort, wandered from 
one to the other. No one in that house thought 
of the heat, — rather of the fires of pride, that 
blast the human soul, and desolate as they sweep 
on. 

It was some hours after noon. Lady Pepperell 
had gone for a moment to the hall, and Mary 
was sitting by an upper window. At a distance, 
she discerned a crowd of persons making their 
way toward the house by the dusty upper road. 
They came tumultuously but slowly on, bearing 
something with them, reverently carried. The 
heaviness at Mary's heart interpreted the whole. 
In a moment, she was at the head of the stairs. 
'^ Lady Pepperell ! dear Lady Mary ! come here 
to Mrs. Sparhawk's room.'' 

She was none too quick. The door had scarce- 
ly closed upon Lady PepperelPs form, when Mary 
heard the heavy, mufiled tread of many feet, 
and the deep drawing of many breaths, as some- 
thing heavy was again deposited. 

" Would to Grod that he were dead ! " Say it 
again. Sir William. But there is no need : from 
the arm-chair where he has sat since yester- 
night, the stricken father sees and understands 
it all. 



PEPPERELL HOUSE. 321 

It was not suicide, — only the heat; and this 
death of the young heir, and all the terrible 
casualties of that terrible day, so swallowed up 
all memory of the intended marriage, that, when 
the public again thought of Sir William, it was 
only with the tenderest commiseration. And 
they had need. Mrs. Sparhawk recovered from 
a sickness that seized the very centre of life. 
Lady Pepperell lifted her meek eyes, and bent 
her gentle lips to smile once more ; but to Sir 
William came no change. No company came 
now to his hospitable board ; no glass of wine 
tempted his lips to gossip of the fleet at Louis- 
burg. A stern, unmitigated fate was written 
on his brow ; and, as soon as the health of Mrs. 
Sparhawk would permit, his friend Sewall was 
summoned from York to draw up a new will. 
He had but one ambition, — to perpetuate his 
name ; and he now directed all his energies to 
the securing of his wealth and iitle to his 
daughter's son, who was to take the name of 
Pepperell. 

'^ A strange pride in a reputation, a strange 
anxiety for the honor of his posterity,'' muttered 
Sewall to the housekeeper, as they left the room. 
^^ There is something ungodly in this uneasy mind. 
Would you wonder now. Mistress Rattray, if you 

21 



322 PEPPERELL HOUSE. 

or I lived to see all these family honors scat- 
tered to the wind?'' 

'^ God forbid ! '' ejaculated the faithful woman ; 
" but my master has never been himself since 
the hour of Mr. Andrew's death." 

As they passed through the hall, they found 
Mrs. Sparhawk paying some money to a stran- 
ger. Mr. Sewall paused to look at something 
in her hand. It was a diamond ring. The hoop 
of virgin gold had been replaced by one of black 
enamel, and a crystal behind the stones pro- 
tected a lock of Andrew Pepperell's hair. On 
the hoop was written, — 

Andrew Pepper ell obit. Aug. — , 18 — , cet. 26. 

When the first days of suffering were over, 
Mary would gladly have returned to her quiet 
home : but Mrs. Sparhawk, who had lost her 
infant during her distressing illness ; and Lady 
Mary, who knew not what to make of Sir Wil- 
liam in his changed mood, — begged that she 
would stay. So Mary went daily to lighten her 
grandmother's cares for a few hours, still making 
Pepperell House her home. She was not sorry 
that she did so. A few weeks after Andrew's 
sudden death, Avitli no healthful change to body 
or spirit. Sir William passed away. If there 



PEPPERELL HOUSE, 323 

were such a thing as slow apoplexy, he might 
be said to have died of that ; for his countenance 
grew rigid and purple after the death of his son^ 
and it was apparent to all beholders that he 
preserved its calmness by almost unprecedented 
effort. It cost Mary no little pain to remain at 
Pepperell House until after the funeral ; but she 
considered it a duty owing to her friends, and 
she did not shrink. The body was splendidly 
coffined, covered with a black-velvet pall em- 
broidered with the Pepperell escutcheon. It 
lay in state in the great hall for a week, and 
hundreds came to visit it. It was Mary who 
covered every mirror with a white veil, super- 
intended the sable hangings of the house, and 
arranged the plumes upon the canopy which shel- 
tered the body. When the work was done, she 
paused to look about her. Upon every panel 
was painted the Pepperell arms. On one side 
of the mantle were painted those of the Spar- 
hawks ; on the other, a vacant compartment 
had been left for those of the Waldrons, when 
Andrew Pepperell should have the right to 
quarter them with his own. Mary sighed. At 
this moment, Elizabeth Sparhawk came to find 
her. 

^^ You are wearying yourself, dear Mary, with 



324 PEPPERELL HOUSE. 

all this parade/' she said. " Come away with me : 
let us leave this useless pomp." 

" It was Sir William's wish/' said Mary gently. 
^^ It is that of the townspeople. It cannot be 
useless to respect the wishes of the dead. It 
helps us, if not them ; but, as I arrayed these 
candles at the head and foot of the bier, I could 
not but think of the Saviour lifted down from 
the cross, and laid, unhonored, beneath the friend- 
ly stone." 

A week after, all that was mortal of Sir Wil- 
liam was carried to the village church. The 
Pepperell and Sparhawk pews were hung with 
blacky and a sermon was preached over his re- 
mains. According to the custom of the period, 
the females of the family remained at home. Sit- 
ting at Lady PepperelPs window, Mary watched 
the crowd upon the beach. The long proces- 
sion had entered the church ; and hundreds who 
could not enter were grouped about the doors 
and windows, trying to catch the preacher's 
words. Those to whom this seemed hopeless 
were already lighting huge fires upon the sands, 
and cutting up the two oxen provided for the 
occasion. Soon the servitors of the family dis- 
tributed bread, spirits, and beer among the peo- 
ple ; and preparations were made in the great 



PEPPERELL HOUSE. 325 

hall to entertain with suitable magnificence — 

rich wines and richer viands — the dignitaries 

of the land who honored the occasion with 

their presence. Long before it was over, Mary 

Stevens's eyes were closed in sleep; and Mrs. 

Rattray gently lifted the tired girl away from 

the window, and laid her on Lady PepperelPs 

bed. Nothing need now detain her. Her father 

and grandmother came early on the morrow to 

take her away ; and, when Mary rested her 

head upon the shoulder of the latter, she said 

plaintively, ^^ It is good to be at home once 

more.'' 

• ••••• 

Many years had passed. The war was over. 
What remained of the Pepperell Family was 
headed by the young Sir William, the child of 
Elizabeth Sparhawk, resident in London. The 
vast estates of the family — stretching, as the 
first Sir William proudly boasted, from Kittery 
Point to Saco — were already confiscated ; but 
the service of plate (the guerdon of the ^^ brave 
Yankee boy ") had been carefully preserved. 
The Colonial authorities considered their own 
honor involved in the honor of Sir William Pep- 
perell ; and, instead of melting down the splen- 
did gift of the city of London, enclosed it in an 



326 PEPPERELL HOUSE. 

iron box, and sent it to Boston, to be shipped 
for Liverpool in a vessel just ready to sail. 
What became of it afterwards is not known : 
some persons thinking that it went to the bot- 
tom in the Liverpool ship ; others, that it ignobly 
purchased the bread of the young heir. Be 
that as it mav, so valuable did the Provincial 
authorities consider it, that Sheriff Moulton of 
York, attended by an armed escort, was ap- 
pointed to convey it to Boston. The tidings 
reached Kittery and Portsmouth a little in ad- 
vance of the procession, and crowds assembled 
on the public ways to see it pass. 

Against the broken slab which covered the 
tomb of Sir William, under the now shattered 
and dismantled walls of the Pepperell and Spar- 
hawk grounds, stood a clergyman and his wife. 
Those who came here with us some years ago 
will see, beneath the pallor of extreme ill health, 
the unmistakable sweetness Avhich adorned the 
•countenance of Mary Stevens. She led by the 
hand a little boy, whose brilliant eyes and flow- 
ing curls attracted the notice of the neighboring 
loungers. His teeth were of a dazzling white- 
ness, and the radiance of his smile entranced 
every eye. As the sheriff rode by, he drew in 
his horse, and tossed the little fellow a sprig of 



PEPPERELL HOUSE. 327 

berried winter-green from his button-hole. The 
boy bounded forward to catch it, and a natural 
anxiety induced his mother to move a little 
nearer to the crowd. 

^^ Neighbor/' said a Kittery fish -woman in 
heavy clogs and a short red petticoat, turning 
to our English officer who had been but lately 
released from his parole at the Port, — ^^ neigh- 
bor, what has become of the Arthur Blount, that, 
in his young days and yours, used to be such a 
favorite at the big house?" 

^' He is become a rich man, if that will con- 
tent 3"ou, mother,^' answered the officer some- 
what shortly ; '^ but we of the 49th are apt to 
think he disgraced us. He resigned his com- 
mission at the beginning of the war.'' 

A faltering voice called ^^ Joseph ! " and the 

boy moved away with his parents. It was the 

first time and the last that Mary heard her lover's 

name spoken after the death of Andrew Pep- 

perell. 

• • • • ' • • 

Another score of years had gone by. At the 
close of a warm summer's afternoon, two per- 
sons might have been seen walking toward the 
Point. One was a young English midshipman ; 
and the other, something tells us, we have met 



328 PEPPERELL HOUSE. 

before. Never did a human face beam with a 
diviner light. A beauty not of earth hovered 
around those h'ps of radiant sweetness as he dis- 
coursed with his companion. Their steps had 
turned from the deserted parsonage toward the 
dilapidated tomb of Sir William Pepperell. Near 
them lay heaps of broken bricks that had once 
formed the garden wall ; and three deserted 
mansions, whose w^indows were broken in and 
whose underpinning had been torn away, stood 
the sole monuments of his former prosperity. 

^^ It was during the war/' said the clergyman 
sadly, as he followed the direction of the young- 
man's eyes; " the loyalty of the family provoked 
the ire of the soldiers, and they destroyed every 
thing they could. That building to the east, 
w^hich seems in the best preservation, dates from 
the period of your father's last visit. It was 
intended for young Andrew Pepperell ; but Sir 
William and Lady Mary never entered it after 
his unhappy death. So tragic was his fate, and 
so deep the interest that it excited, that a sacred 
awe restrained the more ruthless hands when- 
ever they approached it. It was left a monu- 
ment of man's mistaken pride." 

^^ I thank you/' said the boy, " for bringing 
me hither. I shall love my father's memory bet- 



PEPPERELL HOUSE. 329 

ter, now that I have made a pilgrimage to this 
spot.'' 

^^ Then live more worthily in consequence/' 
returned the clergyman solemnly. ^^ If there 
ever comes a period when the fascinations of 
wealth and rank tempt you to forget the brother- 
hood of all, remember the moment when you 
stand at the grave of one who placed his salva- 
tion therein. The name that he fondly hoped 
to make immortal is hardly remembered here 
in his native town. The young heir is dead, 
you tell me, leaving no successor; and, but a 
few weeks ago, the charity of a distant con- 
nection alone saved two of his grandsons from 
dying in the alms-house. Never was there a 
more striking instance of the vanity of human 
wishes." 

*^ But tell me," said the young man, a gene- 
rous admiration kindling in his eye, — " tell me, 
are there no times when you, too, feel the need 
of this lesson ? If not of wealth or rank, surely 
the dangers of a reputation and influence so sur- 
prising as yours must sometimes require such a 
check." 

The young clergyman sadly shook his head. 
" My heavenly Father has been kind," he an- 
swered. ^^ The state of my health precludes any 



330 PEPPERELL HOUSE. 

such possibility. If, at one moment, I should 
weakly attribute to my own eflforts a success 
which flows only from his all-bountiful love, the 
next I might find myself convulsed by suffer- 
ings which would rebuke my vanity; since no 
human hand can alleviate them, and which teach 
— nay, compel — me to await with humility that 
heavenly summons which can never be far off 
while they are so near.'^ 



III. 

HOW TO MAKE CHILDREN HAPPY. 



" A single rose for a rose-tree which beareth seven times seven." 

E. B. Barrett. 



TT was a warm spring afternoon, when two 
-*■ ladies, richly dressed, left a fashionable green- 
house in the neighborhood of Boston, their hands 
full of freshly-cut flowers, which glittered in the 
sunlight, and scented the soft air as they passed 
along. As they neared their home, they crossed, 
to shorten the way, a portion of a street de- 
voted to the poor Irish. 

" lady, lady ! '' pleaded a little voice, a 
little hand seizing the rapidly flying skirts of 
her who came flrst, — "0 lady, lady ! just give 
me one flower." 

" Not I, indeed ! " replied the careless girl. " I 
am going to a great wedding to-night, and 
have no roses to spare for those dirty little 
fingers." And, rescuing her silken flounce with 



332 HOW TO MAKE CHILDREN HAPPY. 

a somewhat determined air, the younger of the 
two passed on. 

As the older followed, she saw two children 
standing bareheaded beneath the hot sun, their 
feet hidden to the ankles in the dust of the dry 
road. They might have been six and ten years 
of age. The larger wore a sullen, stupid look; 
but the great blue eyes of the little pleader were 
full of tears, which she tried to wipe away with 
the corner of a dirty pinafore. The child was 
by far too much disheartened to renew her en- 
treaties ; but, as the elder sister came in sight, 
she dropped a few bright buds into the half-raised 
apron. She remembered for whose wedding she 
had intended the beautiful adornment ; and she 
said, half aloud, '^ Emma will never miss these 
among the thousands she will have." She was 
well repaid by the look of admiration that lighted 
up the sad, dull face. 

^^ Oh, mammy will be so glad ! '' shouted the 
older girl ; and, seizing a flower, she darted up 
the street. The warm flush of joy had already 
dried the tears of the younger; and, toddling 
after as fast as her little feet would carry her, she, 
too, disappeared, without one ostensible word of 
thanks. 

Annie Weston cast a look in the direction 



HOW TO MAKE CHILDREN HAPPY. 333 

which her sister had taken, hesitated a moment, 
and then followed the children. They had en- 
tered the low dwelling which served them for a 
home. It stood by the dirty roadside, with 
hardly a tree in sight. A few blades of grass 
about the door were brown with the heat, and 
the sun streamed in through the unblinded win- 
dows and open door. As she drew near, she 
caught the eager accents of the older child. 

" mammy ! '' she exclaimed, ^- we have seen 
one at last, — one of those bright, beautiful 
ladies we used to see at Ballymote. She was 
not afeard to be kind to us, but dropped all 
these roses in little Bridget's apron. I hurried 
home, dear mammy; for I want to see you smile; 
and you w^ill smile at this, I know,'' she added, 
as she held up a white moss rosebud. She stood 
by the side of a coarsely-dressed woman, whose 
back was towards the listener at the door. The 
drooping attitude of her whole figure showed the 
deepest despondency; and Annie watched the 
play of a somewhat refined countenance in a 
little shaving-glass that hung opposite. Her lip 
quivered; the smile with which she sought to 
answer the loving glance of her child vanished ; 
and, as little Bridget laid one by one her trea- 
sures in her mother's lap, the latter bowed her 



334 HOW TO MAKE CHILDREN HAPPY. 

head upon her hands, and wept aloud. Annie 
saw that some tender chord had been touched. 
Noiselessly as a lady well knows how to tread, 
she entered the freshly-mopped room, and emp- 
tied her whole store of flowers upon the table ; 
then, drawing the silent and disappointed chil- 
dren to the doorstep, she seated them there. 
" Be good now,'' she said, ^^ and play with these 
bright rose-leaves. Mother will soon feel better, 
and then she will give you some of the pretty 
flowers." The children smiled gladly ; and in a 
few moments the kind girl was out of sight. 
She entered her chamber quietly, for the sun 
Avas near its setting, and hastily began her 
toilet. 

" Annie ! '' cried her mother from a neighbor- 
ing room, " you will certainly be late. Ellen has 
been at home this long time. The gardener has 
just come in : let him make up your flowers for 
Emma." 

^^ No, thank you, mamma : I do not intend to 
make them up." 

^^ Annie ! " cried Ellen at the opposite door, 
"just give me one of your buds to finish my 
wreath : I have not quite enough." 

" I am sorry, dear Ellen ; but I have not one to 
spare." And Annie shook out the long tresses 



HOW TO MAKE CHILDREN HAPPY. 335 

of her dark hair, and began to braid them rapidly 
as she spoke. 

" Nonsense, Ann ! Emma will never miss one^ 
And Ellen's eye ran rapidly round the room in 
search of what she wanted. Annie grew pale, but 
did not speak. After a moment's pause, the truth 
darted across her sister's mind. " As I live, I'll 
tell mamma ! " she uttered, and ran quickly out 
of the room. 

" That is too provoking ! " said her mother, as 
soon as Ellen's story was ended ; and turning to 
her husband, who was absorbed in his evening 
paper, she added, " My dear, what shall we do 
with Annie ? She grows more extravagant every 
day. She ordered five dollars' worth of flowers 
for Emma, from old Houghton ; and, instead of 
sending them as she intended, she has thrown 
all, except the few she gave to Ellen, into the lap 
of a dirty little Irish child." 

^^ Where did she get her five dollars, my dear? " 
" Saved them out of her allowance, Charles. 
She was to have had a new visite; but she gave 
it up, and put the money aside, that Emma might 
have a bouquet precisely like one her lover saw 
abroad and very much admired." 

" I do not see what I can do, my dear. You 
do not want me to cut ofi* her allowance ? " 



336 HOW TO MAKE CHILDREN HAPPY. 

" No ; not precisely : yet it might be a good 
plan, for a time.'' 

Mr. Weston smiled. ^^ As long as the money 
must be spent for flowers/' said he, " it matters 
little where the flowers go." 

At this moment, Annie hastily entered the 
room. Her cheeks were quite crimson with 
emotion, and her voice trembled. " My dear 
father/' said she hurriedly, ^^ I am going to give 
you pain. I have broken a promise ; but I 
quite forgot. I know it is no excuse; but I 
quite forgot." 

^^ Quite forgot what, Annie ? " 

ii Forgot to save the white moss rosebuds that 
you gave me the money to buy, and desired me 
to wear." 

" Well," said her father in a tone of vexation, 
'^ I cannot say that I do see the use of giv- 
ing moss rosebuds to Irish children. Your own 
flowers you might give away ; but mine " 

^^ It was very wrong, dear father ; and, if you 

would only trust me I cannot explain ; but 

I have taken great pains with my hair, and I hope 
you will like it without the flowers. Forgive me 
this once." 

Mr. Weston pressed his lips to the thick braids 
she bent down for his inspection, and answered, 
^^ This once, Annie." 



HOW TO MAKE CHILDREN HAPPY. 337 

Without a word from her disappointed mo- 
ther, who had anticipated more than one triumph 
for the beautiful bridesmaid, Annie sprang into 
the carriage beside her sister. 

'^ Annie," said the latter, '' shall I tell Emma 
what you have done?'' 

^' No,'' said Annie, her eyes filling with tears : 
^^ it is done, and I had better bear the disappoint- 
ment alone." 

"It is provoking," said Ellen; "because phlox 
and dandelions would have pleased them just as 
well." 

" I don't know that," returned Annie brightly ; 
and she was silent for the remainder of the drive* 

That evening, when some young girls were 
praising the beauty of the bridal party, Ellen 
could not refrain from telling the story. " What 
Avas most foolish of all," said she, "papa had 
given Annie a wreath of beautiful white moss 
buds; and she must needs throw those away with 
the rest." A gentleman, who had caught more of 
the truth from one glance at Annie's tranquil face 
than Ellen from her knowledge of the circum- 
stances, here raised his eyes to the narrator's, 
and said with emphasis, " A wreath of buds for 
a rose-tree which beareth seven times seven." 
Ellen had not read the " Brown Rosary," and did 

22 



338 HOW TO MAKE CHILDREN HAPPY. 

not understand this forced application of Miss 
Barrett^s beautiful lines ; but she felt that he was 
pleased with her sister, and blushed. 

The day after, Annie loaded a little basket 
with common garden-flowers, and sought the 
home of the Irish children. 

" Here she comes, mammy ! '' cried little Mary, 
looking up with waiting eyes. A single glance 
showed Annie five or six tall glasses, that seemed 
like relics of a happier time, filled with the 
beautiful flowers she had given. The children 
had not been allowed to destroy them; and little 
Bridget^s eyes were even now fixed upon the 
mantel in untiring admiration. 

^^ Yes,'' Annie answered in reply to Mary's ap- 
pealing look, — " yes, I am come now to make you 
happy. I have brought all these flowers for you 
and Bridget; and see, here are large needles and 
coarse thread. Now you shall make necklaces." 

Mrs. O'Gara stood wondering, while her visitor 
set the children to work ; and, when the sunshine 
of happy industry gleamed out of their eager 
eyes, Annie turned to the mother, and, with sym- 
pathizing tact, drew from her the incidents of 
her story. Her father had been head gardener 
to a famous earl, the largest landholder in the 
county of Sligo. She had been accustomed to 



HOW TO MAKE CHILDREN HAPPY. 339 

connect all beautiful flowers with the happy 
time when she trotted beside him as he sur- 
veyed his hot-beds and conservatories. All the 
refining influences of rural life had been around 
her from her childhood. She was imaginative 
and loving. She deserted her father in his old 
age, and married, against his wish, a worthless 
man, the natural son of a neighboring priest. 
For a few years, they lived happily. Her father 
would not see her after her marriage, but re- 
placed her near his heart by adopting her second 
child. The oldest died soon after. The hus- 
band, by degrees, became intemperate and aban- 
doned. To hide her disgrace in a foreign land 
was her only wish ; and, seizing little Mary one 
day as she came home from school, she em- 
barked for America alone. Little Bridget was 
born on the passage. Her husband followed 
her. She bore upon her person the inefiaceable 
marks of his anger, and was going to her grave 
from an internal disease, the consequence of 
his brutal kicks, when she had endeavored to 
shield her children from their father. It is not 
our intention to follow her painful story. We 
began these pages with quite a different view. 
Suffice it, that, through the suff'erings of years, 
she never spoke of her husband in harsher terms 



340 HOW TO MAKE CHILDREN HAPPY. 

than " poor misguided man.'' She hnmbly ac- 
cepted his imkindness as the discipHne through 
which God sought to convince her of her in- 
gratitude to her earthly father. 

At present, however, a different thought pre- 
sented itself ^^ What has sustained me/' she 
said to Annie, " through all my trials, has been 
the memory of my happy childhood. I have 
dreamed of the sloping lawns, the shady trees^ 
and bright flowers my father tended. I have 
been able to get my daily bread ; but Mary has 
suffered from the change. She was beautiful as 
a little child, and the pet of the earl's daughters. 
I have hardly seen her smile since we left home. 
She is sad and moping. She will soon lose me. 
Oh ! tell me, my dear lady, how I can make her 
happy for the short time I shall remain," 

^^Do you give her plenty to do?" asked 
Annie. 

^' Yes : but, in this neighborhood, there is little 
amusing; and though she runs my errands, wipes 
dishes, and such like, she has idle hours, when I 
have no time to teach her. Yesterday she sat 
looking dreamily at the flowers with a half-smile ; 
and see how bright her face is now ! " 

Yes, flowers of her own, — flowers she could 
destroy, tear up into necklaces, or plant in the 



HOW TO MAKE CHILDREN HAPPY. 341 

wide cracks of the floor, — these were truly a 
pleasure. Annie did not disturb the children, 
but went home to think how she could help them. 
^^ It is very true/^ she thought to herself, ^^ that 
these children, to be good, must be taught to be 
happy. That may not be quite evangelical : but 
I am sure it is right. To give to one human 
being a happy childhood is as if one were to 
give him a good education. The fruit of neither 
can be taken away. If it ripen in time, it may 
be gathered in eternity. There are many mo- 
thers less capable of doing this than Mrs. O'Gara. 
What can I do for their hundreds of children ? 
If people neglect their obvious duties, they who 
see that they do so must either discharge them, 
or teach the neglectful to discharge them.^' 

All that afternoon, Annie kept her room. 
Her mother and sister wondered that she could 
be so stupid. At last, she came down to tea. 
" Father," said she, " are you going to plant the 
lower half of the garden this year ? '' 

" No, my dear.'^ 

" Are you willing that I should ? " 

^^You?" 

^^ Yes, papa ; not all myself, but with the help 
of some children." 

^^ What ! the little wretches you gave your 



342 HOW TO MAKE CHILDREN HAPPY. 

flowers to ? Yes ; but, if I miss a single bud or 
cherry, I will turn you all out.^' Mr. Weston 
spoke with energy; for his garden often suffered, 
and he felt as if this were only inviting the rob- 
bers in. " If that is the case/' thought Annie, '^ I 
must turn depredators into laborers." And, 
after tea, she tied on her bonnet, and went down 
to Mrs. O'Gara's. " Mary," said she, " do you ever 
want something to do ? " 

" Oh, yes ! I want some flowers to string to- 
night." 

^^ Do you know any other children that do? " 

'^ Oh, yes ! a great many." 

^' Well, go out into the street, and bring in 
all you can find." Mary ran off. Annie drew 
a chair to the door ; for she did not wish to bring 
the dirty little feet across Mrs. O'Gara's clean 
floor. Eight children returned with Mary. 

^^How many of you like flowers?" asked Annie. 
Even little Bridget held up her hand. 

^' How many of you would like a garden ? " 
All hands were up. 

^^ How many of you would work for it ? " 
Some hung their heads. 

^^ It would be hard work at first,'' pursued 
Annie ; " for it would be necessary for you to go 
to school and help your parents as you do now. 



HOW TO MAKE CHILDREN HAPPY. 343 

I should want you to get up at daylight, and work 
with me till breakfast-time. Sometimes, perhaps, 
you must work after tea. But, if you were good, 
I should pay you at first, so that you might buy 
some tools. When flowers and vegetables began 
to grow, we could sell them." 

" And have the money for ourselves ? " said 
one bright-looking boy of twelve. 

'' Yes." 

" But w^ho would buy them ? " asked a timid 
girl. 

" I would," said Annie, " if you could not find 
a better market ; but you might sell to the 
village." 

All hands now went up but Mary O'Gara's. 
^' It would be quite dishonest/^ she thought, '^ to 
sell to Miss Annie." 

^^ Not if I want to buy," said Annie, smiling ; 
and it was agreed that these ten children should 
come to the garden-gate at five the next morn- 
ing. Before she slept, Annie had a long confer- 
ence with the gardener as to the best way of 
proceeding, and ordered from a neighboring shop 
half a dozen baskets to carry weeds in. 

She was awake in good season : the first fiush 
had not colored the east when she went down 
stairs. Not a child was missing. The gardener 



344: HOW TO MAKE CHILDREN HAPPY. 

had marked out a large square lot. Annie divid- 
ed her band into groups. The stoutest pulled 
the heavy weeds. The girls carried them off in 
baskets to the sty. The little ones, like Bridget, 
gathered the many stones into piles. They 
Avorked happily for two hours and a half. Annie 
was surprised to see how much they did. Before 
they went to breakfast, she told them, that, if her 
father lost his fruit this year, they must lose 
their garden. " Now," said she, " you can be 
honest yourselves, and plead with the other boys 
to be so. But no promises ; for they may be hard 
to keep." The children went away, feeling that 
they were trusted. Annie looked at her dis- 
colored skirts as she went into the house. 
^^ This is likely to be troublesome work," she 
thought ; and she spent the rest of that day in 
making up a neat, stout dress, that would not 
drink in the dew. The first season, she did not 
have a very handsome garden. The walks were 
crooked, the beds were ill shaped ; and she was 
wise enough to raise only hardy and showy 
flowers, — showy, that the little ones might not 
be disappointed. Still Mary O'Gara lost her 
sullen look, the bright boy earned enough to buy 
himself a ^^ Euclid," and all the children were 
more decently clad than at first. Annie taught 



HOW TO MAKE CHILDREN HAPPY. 345 

them habits of industry, order, and thrift. She 
showed them how to put up their flowers in sala- 
ble bunches, and many were the occasions of far 
more valuable lessons. When they first began to 
weed, they came unawares upon a little stream 
that the tall pigweed had for a long time con- 
cealed and Annie had almost forgotten. Along 
its course sprang up the glossy leaves of the 
yellow cowslip. 

'' I mean to have those ! '' shouted one of the 
boys. ^^ I can sell those for greens in the mar- 
ket.^' 

" There are not enough to divide/' said Annie ; 
" and they do not all belong to you.'' The boy 
hung his head. 

A little girl stepped forward in answer to 
Annie's appealing look. " Miss Annie/' said she, 
'^ let us all give up to little Bridget. Her mo- 
ther is sick, and she needs money more than we 
do." 

^' I wonder/' thought Annie, as she parted from 
this child, — '^ I wonder what religion is. I do 
not believe I know." No, Annie did not know. 
She was ambitious to be useful, and her character 
was finely strung ; but religion she did not yet 
understand. Her father was a strong man, of 
strict integrity and great gentleness. Both her 



34G HOW TO MAKE CHILDREN HAPPY. 

parents were Episcopalians, of somewhat worldly 
views. Now Annie began to study the Bible for 
herself; and, in the midst of her many difficulties, 
she saw her way clearly. 

This winter, Annie taught the girls to sew and 
knit ; and the boys were taught to whittle skew- 
ers for the butcher, and flower-frames for the 
gardener. What they earned was used to buy 
and cut strong clothing for those who needed it. 
Their gains were thrown into a common trea- 
sury. 

The second summer found Annie far more 
busy than the first. She cultivated twice as 
much ground, had twice as many pupils, and a 
dozen times as much trouble. She was helped, 
however, in many ways ; for her efforts had pre- 
vented many a garden from being robbed : and 
even her father now began to realize that her 
white moss buds had not been entirely thrown 
away. Annie was so anxious to create all the 
happiness she could, that she sometimes ran im- 
prudent risks. Occasionally a vulgar girl, or 
rude, dishonest boy, gave her a great deal of 
trouble. But Annie was resolute before she be- 
came religious, and afterward that resolution 
was founded on a rock. Nothing turned her 
aside, nothing ruffled her sweetness. She had 



HOW TO MAKE CHILDREN HAPPY. 347 

but little money ; of that her father was not 
profuse : but she had time and patience and 
health. She gave tliem all to purchase a happy 
childhood for the little ones whom her Master 
also loved. The moral worth of her gift few 
practical persons will dispute. We have no time 
to dwell upon the subsequent details of her ex- 
periment. The boy who bought " Euclid/' with 
her encouragement fitted himself for college, 
and is carrying himself through. Two boys 
became first-rate gardeners. In time, she added 
to her garden a good poultry yard; and some of 
her pupils afterwards devoted themselves to this 
charge. Mary O'Gara became a happy, well-paid 
vest-maker; and, when her mother died, Mrs. 
Weston found an excellent nurse for her young- 
est child in bright little Bridget. Annie was not 
without admirers for years ; but her friends are 
now convinced that she has found her truest 
sphere of usefulness in training that — 

" Rose-tree which beareth seven times seven," — 

and she labors on without any desire of change. 



IV. 

A SKETCH FROM REAL LIFE, 



" Sallow-complexioned ; and, if hearts can wear that color, his heart 
Tvas sallow-complexioned also." — Charles Lamb. 



"I^TOT far from my home, but in a close and 
^ ^ winding street, half covered with creepers, 
and set out with old-fashioned beds of ^' Job's 
tears,'' was the dwelling of a child, a little 
older, but far more beautifuJ, than myself It 
might have been a happy home ; for a rich 
nature waited to be developed in the heart of the 
little one : but, alas ! the mother slaved herself, 
as shallow natures will, to procure fine garments 
for her tiny frame ; and the father sometimes 
abused her in his maudlin fits of intemperance, 
or misled her by a libertine example. I have 
stolen round the corner often, at sunset of a sab- 
bath eve, to watch that fair face bending over a 
Bible on the window-sill. How fitting a frame 
for the graceful figure, crowned with its heavy 



A SKETCH FROM REAL LIFE. 349 

mass of curls too red for perfect beauty, was 
the mass of crimson cloud that seemed to kindle 
it with a living fire ! Of a sudden, the exterior 
of the little hut improved. The father, who 
was a wood-sawyer, went more regularly to his 
daily business ; the mother took more pride in 
household tidiness; and the daughter, often 
missed now by my seeking eye at the late 
sabbath eve, went regularly every day to a dis- 
tant dwelling to receive music-lessons from a 
gentleman, who, attracted by her rare loveliness, 
had found her home, and made her one of his 
sabbath-school pupils. It was his influence that 
had introduced the refinements of life into this 
little dwelling, and brightened the whole family 
aspect. I heard his name. It was one high in 
church and state, and well known for public be- 
neficence. His was a nature that sought appro- 
bation ; and it seemed ungrateful to quarrel with 
it while it wrought only for a legitimate result. 
But there are instincts in a woman's nature, es- 
pecially when that has been disciplined by trial 
and brought into rigid subjection to principle, 
which she may trust as implicitly as she would 
the word of God. I met him once, leading his 
pupil by the hand ; and lifted to his a clear, 
childish gaze, which something within him told 



350 A SKETCH FROM REAL LIFE. 

hira to avoid ; and^ from that hour, we under- 
stood each other well. I knew, that, spite of 
standing, and market-place renown, and wealth 
in plenty, the man was a hypocrite, pondering all 
the while some evil purpose. He also saw, that, 
young as I was, I was a stern moralist, and might 
transfix him some day by some omnipotent and 
penetrating truth. 

Time wore on. The girl shot into promis- 
ing womanhood; retaining a rare simplicity, 
which the costly gifts of her new teacher 
did not alienate. She was still dependent on 
herself; and a young lawyer and his wife, 
won by the grace of her character and charmed 
by the brilliant tones of her voice, gave her, 
at times, a home in their family as a seam- 
stress. It was a beautiful sight, to one who 
knew not the bitter truth, to watch the unfolding 
of her womanhood in her face, it was so rich, so 
radiant, in its promise. 

I felt it to be one of my greatest pleasures 
during several months ; but I was roused from 
my revery one morning by the weeping wife 
of the young lawyer, who had passed the night 
at the bedside of her protegee^ and had re- 
ceived from the unconscious but raving mo- 
ther an infant girl. Whose name, think 3'ou, 



A SKETCH FROM REAL LIFE. 351 

rung in fearful shrieks of agony upon the other- 
wise silent air of that sad night? None other 
than that of her sabbath-school teacher. He was 
no longer young : no momentary enthusiasm had 
overcome his deep-laid scruples. He was tho- 
roughly bred. He had not been enticed to sin 
by its fair seeming, without a full understanding 
that it was the apple of Sodom he held to his 
lips. He had not the excuse so often offered, of 
opposing relatives, of conflicting claims of duty, 
to prevent his making her openly his wife. He 
was wealthy and alone, save that a widowed 
mother was sustained by his bounty. Only his 
sinful pride of birth came between him and the 
loving, gentle wife he might have called his own. 
Prom the first, he had deceived her ; nourishing 
his fell purpose in his heart, feeding it with re- 
very from day to day, and moulding the pliant, 
unsuspicious nature of the child, like wax, to his 
wishes. 

During those painful hours which my young 
friend had passed at Mary^s bedside, her mis- 
taken husband had followed the wretched se- 
ducer to the shelter of an obscure packet-ship, 
in which he had sought a refuge from the public 
eye ; and emploj^ed at once entreaties and threats 
to induce him to become her husband, and to give 



352 A SKETCH FROM REAL LIFE. 

her the shelter which she had every right to 
claim of his name and family. In his bitter 
indignation, he told him of the words of Christ; 
predicting an intenser retribution to him, who, 
not satisfied with the commission of evil, should 
teach others also to sin. He assailed him with 
every argument, and finally pleaded with him as 
a father for his child; but it was all in vain. 
The wretched man cowered before him. ^^ Take 
all that I have,'' he cried ; '^ take it, and wel- 
come : but leave me my old, untarnished name.'' 

Tlie fool and blind ! As if the legal amends 
could tarnish a family escutcheon like the " bend 
sinister " with which his own sin had already 
crossed the shield ! Who could help quoting to 
him the words of Channing, terse and vigorous 
as an ancient proverb : ^^ The wise man seek- 
eth to shine in himself; the fool, to outshine 
others"? Of ^^ shining in himself" he had no 
notion. He only knew that he was good as he 
caught the echo of the world's approbation. 
My friend accepted a generous settlement for 
the poor girl, and left the already- departing 
vessel only with the pilot. 

His wife remembered how tenderly, if dis- 
tantly, I had watched poor Mary's character; 
and, with the early morning, they came to me 



A SKETCH FROM REAL LIFE. 353 

for sympathy. For a moment, the hot tears pre- 
vailed ; for a moment, in my young haste, I re- 
proached Jehovah, that he had permitted such 
a blight to fall upon so fresh and fine a nature. 
I knew not then, as I know now, that the end 
of life is spiritual progress ; that for many na- 
tures this seems impossible, except as a conse- 
quence of flagrant sin, which, opening the mental 
vision, shocks the whole being into a susceptibi- 
lity to God's influence. My bitter grief once- 
over, I angered my misguided friend not a little 
by rejoicing openly in the failure of his mission 
to the packet. 

" What ! " he exclaimed ; " is it not his duty 
to marry her ? Can it be possible that you do 
not despise him still more for his unmanly rejec- 
tion of her ? '' 

^^ It may be true," I answered, ^^ that he owes 
her all this, and more ; but, in pressing this con- 
sideration so far, it seems to me that you argue 
with the narrow wisdom of this world. Let the 
coal from the altar of Jehovah once kindle your 
heart, and you will not see in this marriage her 
highest good. Have we not read, that a happy 
union is possible only among the sons and daugh- 
ters of the Almighty; that it is an irresistible 
law, a divine ordinance, that the soul shall assi- 

23 



354 A SKETCH FROM REAL LIFE. 

milate in value to whatever it loves ; that it 
grows in its likeness, whether it be for better 
or for worse ? And would you set before her 
such an example as his ? Would you defile her 
spirit by a closer contact with his ? Would you 
give him fresh opportunity to reveal to her his 
moral hideousness ? No, my friend : let us thank 
God, that cannot be. I am not, anxious to save 
poor Mary's reputation in the eyes of the world ; 
rather, her soul in the sight of God. Let us 
help her to our utmost to repent of her sin. It 
it is true that I pity her ; that I think her almost 
an angel of light, when I remember him : but 
something within me says that she has sinned ; 
that she had no right to substitute his voice for 
that of conscience ; that, if she had been willing 
to open her eyes on the light she had, she might 
have saved herself, even at the last hour. Let 
her, then, bear the consequences of her sin, the 
loss of reputation, the altered faces of her friends, 
the various social trials that must come. God 
will see that they are not too heavy. Let us 
see that she want not proper sustaining influ- 
ences. There is a great nature in her. Perhaps 
it is only through her sin that it could be deve- 
loped, and taught to strive for heaven. Let her 
go away to some far country town, — to a spot 



A SKETCH FROM REAL LIFE. 355 

where temptation will not be too strong. Let 
her attempt no concealment : let her bear her 
maiden name as openly as her infant in her 
arms. There may yet be a serene life in store 
for her.'' 

" And you would tell her this, — you/' he 
asked, " with that face of stone, and heart of 
ice?" 

^^ A face of stone," I answered, '' only because 
I fear to feel for her more than for virtue. A 
heart calm, and yet tender ; because I would be 
not only a loving nurse, but a stern teacher. 
Would you marry your own sister to him ? Nay, 
why do you start ? Is not she also your sister, 
— this poor, misguided one? Let us not tell her 
these things arrogantly : let us confess ourselves 
sinners, and assure her that we consider the first 
fruit of repentance a willingness to bear the full 
consequence of our sin, if that be the will of 
God. Let us require the same of her. I know 
her well. She will not disappoint us." 

Somewhat reconciled, and yet half angry with 
me, he went away. My counsel prevailed; not, 
perhaps, because he had much confidence in it, 
but because no other way opened. The poor 
girl had no other friends, and I insisted that no 
more should be said about her marriage. She 



356 A SKETCH FROM REAL LIFE. 

was long in recovering from her fearful sick- 
ness ; but, when she did, it was evident that a 
passionate affection for her betrayer still lingered 
in her heart. She still believed that he would 
come back and marry her of his own accord; 
and, when she learned the name of the foreign 
city in which he had taken refuge, she gave it 
to her child. The most painful part of our duty 
was to uproot this attachment, and substitute for 
it an earnest love of God. Not that we had 
power to do this. God, in his own mercy, 
worked within her, and blessed our means. 
When she felt that she must prepare herself 
to teach her child the way of truth, she remem- 
bered, and shuddered to remember, that her lit- 
tle Seville must not tread in his father's footsteps. 

When the time came for her to go, I very 
much wished that she should have strength to 
reject the income provided for her, and trust 
to the honest labor of her hands for her support. 
But my two friends would not hear of this. 
'^ Mingle some mercy with your justice,'' they 
said. " She is too weak to labor. His money 
ought to support his child. If we allow her to 
feel herself poor, she will be ruined." 

I knew the power of that argument, and was 
unwilHng to take the responsibility : so we sent 



A SKETCH FROM REAL LIFE. 357 

her, well provided, to be the inmate of a hard- 
working family in a distant country village. 
Those to whom she went knew what she was, 
and how she had become so, and were admo- 
nished to respect her present firm intentions ; 
but, as from time to time she saw her city 
friends, they grew somewhat injudicious in the 
counsel that they gave. They thought she 
drooped. How could she do otherwise while 
the necessary change was going on? They felt 
that she had been very much wronged, and it 
was far harder for them than for me to remem- 
ber her own sin. They tried to raise her self- 
respect. They saw her faithful to her maternal 
duties ; and they bade her take heart, for she 
was quite as good as those about her. These 
things, repeated in her simpleness to those near- 
est, angered the virtuous but narrow-minded vil- 
lage girls, and prejudiced them for a long time 
against her. God^s work went on, however. 
Mayhap her loneliness helped it. 

After a time, an epidemic fever raged in the 
village. All but the nearest kindred shrank 
from the infected ; and, when these were ex- 
hausted, Mary took their place. From the bed- 
side of the rich to the bedside of the poor she 
went like a ministering spirit. She was not 



358 A SKETCH FROM REAL LIFE. 

always received with kindness ; but she heeded 
no hard words, for they were only words of 
truth. "I can surely bear what I truly deserve/' 
she whispered to herself, and went about still. 
With a cordial in her hand, with an unaccustomed 
meekness in the bend of her beautiful head, 
seeking and receiving no compensation for her 
laborious services, she went. The whole village 
came to look upon her as a saint. They could 
hardly believe it was she who had saved them ; 
and the usual re-action took place. They petted 
her child, and it seemed as if they could not do 
enough to atone for their former neglect. To 
her credit be it spoken, she did not presume 
upon her popularity. Her reserved manner, re- 
turning with the health of her patients, reminded 
them significantly of the past. 

To my great delight, she had at last relin- 
quished the stipend she had received from her 
betrayer. Her strength had returned ; and she 
refused at once to receive any longer the let- 
ters which had kept the painful hope alive that 
he would change, and she might be permitted 
to love him ; and the money which had supplied 
her daily bread. I heard of her from time to 
time as useful, but hardly happy; serene, but 
not yet grateful. 



A SKETCH FROM REAL LIFE. 359 

In the mean time, the current of my life had 
changed. Amid more trying scenes, amid the 
pressure of its heavy responsibihties upon my- 
self, and the new cases of suffering which every 
year brought with it, I had almost forgotten my 
early interest in her. It chanced a few months 
since, that, in the course of a summer's wander- 
ings in search of health, I was detained over a 
sabbath in a distant country town. My heart 
was full of an absent child ; and the name of the 
place, as we drove up before the public -house, 
awakened no remembrance, — only a regret that 
we were still so far from home. The next morn- 
ing, while worhipping in the tiny Unitarian 
church, from amid the chorus of rough voices 
and rougher instruments which constituted the 
village choir, I caught the notes of a voice, rich, 
mellow, powerful, and in perfect tune, operating 
upon the discordant materials around it like a 
sweet temper on an irritated household, gradu- 
ally uniting them all in perfect concord with 
itself. Indecorous I fear it was ; but I turned 
about, in the middle of the hymn, and found it 
proceeded from one whose matured but serene 
and expressive countenance would hardly have 
reminded me of Mary but for the miniature of 
her ancient self, presented in the chubby face 



360 A SKETCH FROM REAL LIFE. 

and flame-like curls of the young Seville at her 
side. " Can it be she ? '^ I murmured almost 
audibly ; for I could not imagine a more exqui- 
site expression of sweetness than lingered at 
that moment round her still beautiful mouth. 
A trace of anxious thought about the brow was 
the only relic which her hours of sin and shame 
seemed to have left. It was not really so ; for 
the whole development of her spiritual nature 
had^ in truth, proceeded from the great need of 
self-scrutiny which they involved. I sought her 
out. To my surprise, I found her married. I 
give you her simple history in her own words : — 
" After the sickness, learning for the first time 
to depend upon myself, I found life hard and 
cold. Next to God, I leaned most upon you. 
Occasionally your words came to me like pro- 
phecies. Mr. and Mrs. '' (naming the young 

lawyer and his wife) " spoke far more gently : 
but your words were true ; they did not flatter 
me. I felt that you loved me too truly to do 
that. I knew I could rely upon your telling me 
the worst. In your last letter, you had said, 
that, when I began ^ unreservedly to serve God,' 
I should know it ; for a sweet peace would infal- 
libly follow, which never could be mine while 
I had any longings or repinings that were not 



A SKETCH FROM REAL LJFE. 361 

wholly righteous. I wrote off these words, and 
laid them in my Bible. For months I struggled 
on, but profitably ; and I came to realize the 
peace of which you spoke. One of my patients 
was longer recovering than the rest. He was a 
man of an irritable and imperious temper, and 
had also a mother sick in body and in mind. 
They were both very poor. I knew his good 
traits very well. I respected him ; for, under 
great disadvantages, he had kept himself pure. 
Several times already he had offered himself to 
me, and I had rejected him ; for I almost loathed 
the thought of marriage, and had no special 
love for him. Watching over him in sickness, 
tenderer feelings were born. He offered himself 
again. I knew that I should have to work very 
hard as his wife ; that I should, perhaps, be still 
less- respected in the town : but I knew, that, if I 
did not marry him, he must lead a lonely life. 
I knew that I had it in my power to make him 
as happy as he could become. I remembered 
that you told me to be sure and expiate the sin 
of my youth by a disinterested life, which should 
make God and man forget it. I knew, too, that 
you had said, I must necessarily look only to a 
private sphere of action ; that I must be sure to 
work nobly in that. I felt that God now opened 



362 A SKETCH FROM REAL LIFE. 

this sphere to me. If I could but make a now 
miserable family happy by constant self-sacrifice, 
I might, perhaps, atone for having driven my 
father to a drunkard's grave, and clouded the last 
years of my mother with shame. What right 
had I to sigh for a better fate ? I married him. 
I work harder, but am not thanked : I am con- 
stantly tried by his mother's bitter temper ; but 
I have great influence over them both. Things 
are now in a better state. They live more like 
civilized beings. They have consented to hold 
family worship ; and, for me, the peace within 
increases. Have I not done right?'' 

She asked the question anxiously. Whatever 
romantic hope 1 might have had that she would 
continue single, I saw that this practical self- 
sacrifice was a far better thing. I kissed her 
cheek, and re-assured her. I left her, thanking 
God that he had so blessed her efibrts at self- 
discipline ; and I now relate her story to those 
who may be pondering similar cases, to point 
out the following truths: — 

That the end of life, and of marriage as the 
most perfect life, is spiritual progress. 

That this purpose of God should be kept 
uppermost in all the discipline we provide for 
our fellows. 



A SKETCH FROM REAL LIFE. 363 

That the world's redress is always summary, 
but not always Godlike or efFectual. 

That it is not healthy for a sinner to dwell 
upon her wrongs ; but to remember, rather, in 
how far she has wronged herself. 

That, to one just entering the way of life, the 
voice of the world must never for a moment 
take the place of that inward consciousness 
which can alone sustain one in the right. 

That Love and Truth are one ; but this Truth 
is not of man's deciding. Only under God, and 
with frequent prayer, is the spirit made capable 
of judging another. 

That the most untoward circumstances, even 
what the world calls " ruin of character," if pro- 
perly encountered, may tend to increase faith 
and humility ; may lead to a more intimate walk 
with God. 



V, 



THE COUNTRY PARISH. 



'' Tacant heart and hand and eye, 
Easy live, and quiet die." — Sir Walter Scott. 



^^ XTE is going to take a country parish, is 
-^-*- he ? '^ exclaimed an aged uncle of a 
favorite nephew. ^^ Well, thousands have been 
spent upon his education, and thousands more 
upon his travels since ; and if, after all that 
Europe and America have done for him, he Avill 
settle down in that contemptible country vil- 
lage, with two hundred dollars for a salary, why, 
let him. He may starve, for all the help I'll 
give him." 

Not quite so outrageous were his clerical 
brethren ; but they still turned a somewhat cold 
shoulder on one who rated himself so low : and 
when, after preaching for six months without aid, 
and writing two sermons every week, he ventured 
to ask for assistance, one had already arranged 



THE COUNTRY PARISH. 365 

his exchanges for three months to come ; another 
thought it too far from home ; and a third, a man 
of fervor too, insisted that it was too early in 
the season for a country exchange. 

Poor James Haviland ! Exchanges there were, 
doubtless, that he might have had ; but his flock 
were in just that condition, that they demanded 
the best religious influences of the day, and he 
dared not run the risk. From the most intelli- 
gent and gifted of his brethren, he had hoped 
for the widest sympathy ; but how was he dis- 
appointed ! It was in the eye of the oppressed 
and careworn pastor of a parish like his own 
that he detected the first sign of emotion. 

" My brother," said the aged man, " I could 
wish that talents and earnestness like yours 
were more favorably placed. My own labors 
have been humbly pursued for thirty years, 
under the constant pressure of ill health. I 
have added but twenty to my church in that 
period, and a single leaf contains my whole 
register of baptisms. When I first took this 
post, I was confident of the sympathy of my 
brethren ; but my exchanges have been con- 
fined to one or two ministers, the least desi- 
rable preachers in the county, whose parishes 
touched mine. I have barely held my own; and 



3GG THE COUNTRY PARISH. 

had I, since the day of my settlement, seen a 
single young man, willing and able to bear my 
responsibility better, I should have resigned 
my pulpit. In the mean time, my people have 
slept under my preaching, while I have prayed 
over them.'^ 

The old man's voice quivered with emotion ; 
and I could not forbear pressing his hand to my 
lips, as I took the young preacher's arm and 
walked away. James Haviland was my school- 
mate. He was younger than I at the beginning : 
but many years of care and sickness had done 
their work on me before he came forward into 
life ; and, when he assumed the charge of a 
little country parish, I was the only friend who 
manifested much interest in the undertaking. 
As I saw him scarcely able to sustain himself 
under it, an almost maternal solicitude thrilled 
through me ; and I watched with painful anxiety 
the deepening color which succeeded his conver- 
sation with the old pastor. 

"James,'' said I at length, "I should like to 
know from whence arises this indifference to 
the fate of country parishes. It seems to me, 
after all, that there is no position in the world 
so worthy of the disciple of Christ as that of 
the country pastor. The city is re-enforced from 



THE COUNTRY PARISH. 367 

the country, year after year ; and the character 
of the young men who leave it is chiefly of his 
forming. No man here, is so insulated by his 
prosperity, that his heart does not thrill to your 
appeal ; no woman here is so absorbed by pas- 
sion, that you dare not speak to her of death 
and the salvation of her soul. Beside this, you 
are the natural guardian of the town-schools. 
The children look to you to confirm every pri- 
vilege they claim. The teacher is sure of your 
sympathy, when that of the committee fails her. 
The taste of the rising generation is determined, 
in a great measure, by the books which j^ou se- 
lect for the parish library, and the lecturers 
whom you introduce to their lyceum. Here, 
where there are few newspapers and fewer 
books ; where women are absorbed in their 
domestic cares, and men in the state of the 
weather, — you are, in fact, the only channel 
through which the world's current of moral or 
intellectual life sets in towards your people. 
The whole of Europe might be convulsed with 
strife, desolated by famine, or wonder-struck at 
some great advance in science or art ; and who 
beside yourself, and one or two not natives of 
the place, would be disturbed thereby?'' 
" I would rather not dwell on the why, dear 



368 THE COUNTRY PARISH. 

Margaret/^ he replied ; ^^ but I do suppose that 
very few denizens of a city know the value of a 
living voice to a place like this. It was not 
intentionally, I am sure, that the brethren with- 
drew from intercourse with the noble old man 
we have just left. They did not realize how 
fully capable his people were of relishing the 
best preaching, how close would be their criti- 
cisms, and how vivid their interest when spoken 
to with power. They did not consider their 
influence with the young men of his society ; 
for, in cities, they are almost an unattainable 
class. Still farther, Margie : they forget how 
little harm it does a wealthy congregation in the 
city to listen to dull preaching half a dozen 
times a year. They hear the foolish comments 
of their young, and the uncharitable objections of 
their old, parishioners ; and they do not realize 
that the able sermons they might have preached 
to a country audience would have lived in the 
memory of tender women and active men for 
years. To the country parish, the strong preach- 
er comes like a prophet : to the city congrega- 
tion, his is but one among a thousand influences ; 
the dimmest, oftentimes, of a dozen dim voices. 
There are no critics like those of a remote 
country parish. It was but yesterday that an 



THE COUNTRY PARISH. 369 

old man said to me, shaking his head, ^ You are 
not equal, young man ; you are not equal. Some- 
times the spirit of the Lord is upon you, and I 
glow while I listen. Again, you feebly drag 
yourself through the service ; and I have trou- 
ble to keep awake, after hard work afield.' 
On that gray rock,'' continued James, raising 
his hand, — " on that gray rock, fringed with 
birches and red with mosses and sunlight, 
George Whitefield often preached. It is within 
a few rods of our old church ; and many of 
those who now sit under its roof on the sabbath 
can give you powerful abstracts of his discourses, 
which tradition has handed down to them, con- 
taining, as they reverently believe, the ^meat 
and meaning' of gospel warning. Mine be an 
immortality like that," he added, his eyes kin- 
dling, '- to live in the hearts of men, saving and 
purifying them ! It is the destiny of a Christ 
alone." 

" No, Margaret," he resumed, after a pause of 
some feeling, " I would the brethren knew the 
truth ! but it is not a voice from a country parish 
that can convince them of it. Let me tell you, 
rather, why it is that I see the matter different- 
ly, and will use to the last my failing strength. 
When I was a little boy, a visitor at my father's 

24 



370 THE COUNTRY PARISH. 

house spoke in terms of ridicule of the condition 
of a country church which he had just visited 
to accommodate a family connection. ^As to 
the music/ said he, ^ I could hear nothing but 
the shrieks of a dismal clarionet. At the con- 
clusion of my prayer,, a dozen of the fathers 
breathed out a nasal " Amen/' echoed as it were 
by the falling of some score of seats, which the 
most old-fashioned of the congregation still per- 
sisted in holding up, in spite of the absence of the 
reason that originally induced it ; namely, very 
crowded pews. I had not at first observed,' he 
continued, ' the presence of nursing infants in 
the congregation ; but, after I began my sermon, 
I was frequently obliged to pause — I hope I 
did it with becoming patience — until their more 
pressing appeals were ended. At the hour of 
communion, half a dozen of the voluntary choir 
marched up to the table, and surrounded me 
with so many apparent instruments of defence, 
that, for an instant, I was fairly perplexed, and 
meditated an escape. I really wonder that a 
cultivated man like my brother-in-law can con- 
tent himself in so barbarous a place.' The laugh 
that ran round the table, Margaret, so grated on 
my ear, that I pleaded some child's excuse, and 
got away. In the following summer, a journey 



THE COUNTRY PARISH. 371 

which I took with your dear mother, a few 
months before her death, introduced me to the 
congregation so humorously described. I had 
my own share of infirmity ; and I found it very 
hard to listen to the service, interrupted as it 
was by the falling of hob-nailed shoes upon the 
uncovered floor of the aisle, the crying of infants, 
the nestling of a dozen dogs round the com- 
munion-rail, and the shuddering cough of as 
many horses without. After the morning ser- 
vice was ended, I walked with your mother on 
the green turf of the neighboring cemetery. She 
sat down under a clump of pines, and I nestled 
at her feet. ' Aunt Mary,' I said hastily, ^ don't 
you think it is wrong to bring babies to church ?' 
'^ ^ You were very restless all through the ser- 
vice, James,' she replied, smiling; ^and I am 
not sure that your unchristian state of mind 
did not grieve the pastor far more than the 
chorus of the infants. I am too old to share 
your impatient feelings ; and, dearly as I love 
the quiet of a city church, I saw a great deal of 
beauty in the condition of things which annoyed 
you so much. The persons who come to this 
service employ no servants ; and, if the babies 
were kept at home, at least a dozen adults must 
remain with them. Many a mother has walked 



372 THE COUNTRY PARISH. 

more than a mile this morning with her baby in 
her arms. Knowing this, I feel great pleasure 
in the gentleness of their pastor. Have you 
not observed with what loving patience he waits 
for the quiet of the little nestlers, and how care- 
fully he banishes from his face any expression 
of impatience which might grieve the already 
harassed mothers?' 

'' ' But the dogs, Aunt Mary ? ' 

•^ ^ To be sure, they might be kept away, but 
at some cost, while the warm weather requires 
open doors.' 

^(- i Why don't they carpet their floors, then ? ' 

" ^ Because they can hardly raise money enough 
to pay their minister. Your father, James, pays 
fifty dollars every year towards Dr. Arnold's sup- 
port ; but these men part with a far larger per- 
centage on their income.' 

^^ ^ But the choir. Aunt Mary ; why don't they 
make that better? They don't pay that.' 

^^ ' No, James ; but it cannot be altered for the 
better without a total change, and that would 
pain the old men who have sat in it from boy- 
hood. There is a music of the heart, which 
their pastor values more than the mere harmony 
of voices ; and I have often been told, that 
a dissatisfied choir could easily divide a feeble 
society.' 



THE COUNTRY PARISH. 373 

^^ ^ But they need not go up to the table, 
aunt/ 

" ^ No ; they need not : but it would pain them 
to be told of it ; so they are permitted to stay 
until some younger choristers happen to take 
their places.' 

"• I remember that I drew a long sigh, and 
said it was very bad. 

^^ My aunt smiled, and replied, ^ Perhaps Mar- 
garet may live to see you the minister of a 
country parish. If so, whenever you are tempted 
to lose your patience, think of this hour. When 
you enter the church, you will find the people 
clustered in pews, eating their noonday lunch. 
There are bottles of sweet milk for the babies, 
and heaps of gingerbread and pie under almost 
every seat. The intermission is not long enough 
for the family meal. If this annoys you, turn 
rather to the green glades of Palestine, where 
Jesus taught. Remember how the people, with 
their children in their arms, clustered about 
him, — some on mules and horses, and many 
more on foot; — how they followed him, not for 
hours merely, but for days ; and how the divine 
Master, rejoicing in their thirst for truth, satis- 
fied with his own hands the hunger of the body ; 
— what disorderly groups of soiled and way- 



o 



74 THE COUXTEY PARISH. 



worn travellers must at times have pressed 
around him; — what loving, eager children must 
have climbed his knee, after the sacred ^ Forbid 
them not' was repeated to the people. He 
spoke under the open sky : and the song of 
birds, the hum of insects, and the lowing of cat- 
tle, must have often been heard above ; no, 
not abovej but mingled with his voice. James, 
I sometimes think there is no audience so nearly 
like that our Saviour oftenest had as the audi- 
ence of an old-fashioned country church. Here 
the poor, the halt, and the blind sit in the best 
seats, and share the ministrations with the rich, 
the active, and the clear-sighted.' 

" We went silently into the church, dear Mar- 
garet ; and I listened, in full- sympathy with their 
pastor, to the evening service. I have never 
forgotten it ; and, consecrated to religious pa- 
tience by your mother's prayer at my bedside 
that night, I came to my work here." 

^^ But you promised," I said, after the tumult 
of recollections which this narrative had called 
up had somewhat subsided, — ^' you promised to 
tell me something of your intercourse with your 
people. You tell me that you have encountered 
sin and misery and poverty as hopeless as that of 
cities ; that there is an immense spiritual work 



THE COUNTRY PARISH. 375 

to do here. I would fain see how all this can 
be true of a green little glade like yours. I can 
well see, that although babies are no longer 
brought to church, and the falling seats of the 
old pews have long since parted with their 
hinges, you may have worse obstacles to en- 
counter than the crying of the one or the 
grating of the other." 

" Not to-night, Margaret," he answered. ^^ For 
the present, let me think happier thoughts, and 
leave my responsibility with God." 

'^ But, James," I persisted, " tell me, at least, 
what became of the little country parish." 

My cousin turned very pale ; but he answered 
my question. ^^ Its pastor was a man of great 
talents and distinguished family. His health was 
very feeble. He, and the young girl who should 
have shared his hearth, nobly relinquished mar- 
riage and the ties of family, in order to save it 
from perishing. She died, one cold winter, of 
exposure to the draughts of the district school- 
house where she taught ; and he, unaided by 
clerical sympathy, unwilling to beg for what was 
not offered, soon followed her. His society va- 
lued him as he deserved, and held together, while 
they could, for his sake ; but, after a time, they 
despaired. No strong man came to save them ; 



376 THE COUNTRY PARISH. 

and those who felt a sincere interest in religion 
joined a Methodist society, not entirely deserted 
by the Spirit.'^ 



VI. 

AUTUMN LEAVES, 



Eve. " I accept, 

For me and for my daughters, this high part, 
Which lowly shall be counted .... 
Worthy endurance of permitted pain ; 
While on my longest patience there shall wait 
Death's speechless angel." 

E. B. Barrett's Drama of Exile. 



TT was the clear but chilly hour of nightfall, 
-■- on an October evening, when, wrapped in a 
thick shawl, the wife of a country minister paced 
with eager and agitated footsteps the low piazza 
in front of the parsonage. To her right, the 
red sun went down in glory, hanging his bed 
with many- colored clouds, and leaving bright 
witnesses to his resurrection, quivering like 
fragmentary stars in the very zenith. To the 
left lay a swampy hollow. Behind a wood of 
dark pines, half hidden by the rolling sur- 
face of the soil, was a clump of trees of differ- 
ent kinds, that had donned their autumn garb 
somewhat earlier than their neighbors. As she 
paused for a moment to look at them, she almost 



378 AUTUMN LEAVES. 

fancied that a group of gigantic antediluvian 
ferns — changed by some strange chemical pro- 
cess to the brightest crimson, purple, and yellow, 
with here and there a streak of emerald — had 
been suddenly pressed against the flat side of the 
opposite hill. Her countenance lost its anxious 
look as she continued to gaze, and every line of 
it relaxed into a tearful sympathy with nature. 

" I well remember," she said, sighing to her- 
self, " how terrible a thought to me in my child- 
hood was the thought of death. Even now it 
sends a chill through my veins ; but this annual 
story of decay, which the bright foliage tells, 
only impels my blood with a more vigorous and 
joyful force. Well was I rebuked yesterday, 
when saying to my little boy, according to the 
mythology of my own nursery, that ^ Jack Frost 
had been kissing the leaves,' he raised his head, 
and, looking sadly at me through his large blue 
eyes, said, ^ No, mamma : it is God who has been 
painting them.' Well was I rebuked. Children 
that we are, untutored savages in taste, we see 
in this accumulation of rainbow tints, in the 
gorgeous shows of this hour vanishing with 
the light, unmistakable evidences of God's pre- 
sence : but we see him not in the calm gray 
of morning ; we suspect him not in the sober 



AUTUMN LEAVES. 379 

russet of the later season. Father ! is there 
no voice which can reach our worn-out hearts, 
and wake them to thy constant presence? 

^^ When I was a child, I thought it was the 
touch of the frost, which, chilling the life-blood 
in the veins of the tender leaves, gave them 
such raiment as the dying dolphin is said to 
wear. Now I know that story to be only a 
nursery fiction ; and I see that crimson and 
purple and yellow hues throng obedient to the 
laws of God, as the consequence of a chemical 
change in the sap, — a part of the process of life, 
and not of death. I see in this a beautiful type 
of spiritual growth. Like the rich colors of 
autumn are the graceful deeds, the loving words, 
the acts of Christian mercy, which have conse- 
crated in my heart the last hours of some de- 
parted to the Father. No touch of death, no 
reflection of glory from the bright world they 
were about to enter, gave this richness and fruit- 
fulness to their last hours : it was rather the 
result of the past, the consequence of a life. 
How I once shrank from the thought of death ! 
and how gently have the leadings of Providence 
conquered this shrinking, as, year after year, I 
have seemed chosen to sit by the death-bed ! 
First, in my early youth, came the calm depart- 



380 AUTUMN LEAVES. 

ure of my little brother to brighten for ever the 
aspect of the last hour. For whole days, his 
beautiful frame had been tossed and hurled upon 
his bed of pain, as if disease had taken the like- 
ness of a fiend, and held him in its furious grasp. 
For hours, his shrill cries had driven playing 
children from the neighboring court. Then the 
death-angel touched his fevered frame. All pain- 
ful convulsions ceased. Gently and more gently 
came the parting breath, until a sweet but per- 
manent smile assured us that the spirit had left 
its last lovely impress on the clay, and was 
gone home to God. And last ? Oh, how differ- 
ent from this was the struggle which I witnessed 
but one short week ago ! 

" Returning from a funeral service in our 
little church, we wound through a long and 
dreary lane leading to an obscure dwelling half 
sunk in the damp hillside ; the chosen home, one 
would think, of fever. Upon the large family 
that called its lowly roof their own a painful 
necessity had early laid its hand. The oldest 
daughter had been lying for several weeks very 
ill. A bunch of bright-colored leaves was the 
last thing she recognized in life. She held them 
in her hot hand till they grew black and crisp 
with fever, — till she knew no longer the faces 



AUTUMN LEAVES. 381 

of her friends. She had grown up to labor. 
Day after day, she had dragged her weary frame 
to a neighboring factory ; night after night, 
she had laid down her aching head, and cried, 
^ God ! is there no rest? ' No : there was none 
on earth. Her last-spoken words were uttered 
in the madness of delirium to the sister who 
pressed her cheek as she retired for the night. 
' Come with me, come with me,' she murmured 
with the bright confidence of one already risen ; 
' come where we shall work no more.' Now she 
lay in the heavy stupor of death. 

" As our carriage drew up before the door, we 
saw at each half-open window the form of some 
one who had loved her, bent, and struggling 
with his grief. Never shall I forget the aspect 
of that death-bed. Wealth came not there to 
soften with its ministries ; taste came not there 
to shroud its horrors. No consciousness in the 
departing sent the radiance of a heavenly trust, 
quivering like a sunbeam, through the still air 
of the room ; but there sat tender afi'ection, brav- 
ing the hideousness of the last change, looking 
on the face of the dying with eyes undimmed, 
doing and suffering to the last. The house had 
no blinds, and the windows were wide open : 
the full light of day streaming into the uncar- 



382 AUTUMN LEAVES. 

peted room, where the pine bedstead (scantily 
covered) and a single chair were the only fur- 
niture. On the bedstead, as we entered, lay the 
suflferer, — a girl of eighteen summers. Every 
breath she drew brought up the lower jaw with 
a sudden shock, and a heavy noise hke that 
of wearied machinery; and her swollen and pur- 
ple hands grasped the coverlet, as if impelled 
by the torture she endured. In a neighboring 
room, we heard the heavy footsteps of father, 
brother, and lover. From the lips of the last 
broke every now and then a bitter wail. I 
stood gazing on the dying. A few shortened 
breathings, and all was over. From the ghastli- 
ness of the destroyer's touch, we turned to com- 
fort and pray with the afflicted. God ! how 
my brain swam that night ! Is the good time 
never coming when idhng and overworking shall 
alike cease ? Shall thy children never press the 
cool forest-leaves to their lips save in the fever 
of their death-hour ? Shall they smell no flowers, 
hear no music of birds, save such as they dream 
of in their last delirium ? " 

In the hurry of her emotion, she had been 
murmuring aloud. Now the color in her cheek 
grew brighter, and her tears gathered and fell. 
Anxiously as she had been awaiting her hus- 



AUTUMN LEAVES. 383 

band's approacli, she did not hear his step till 
he gazed into her saddened face. Then, smiling 
faintly, she said, '' Our aged friend is dying. 
She desires to have the sacrament administered 
in her chamber. I feared that you might be 
too late.'' 

The minister was pale and weary, for he had 
come several miles on foot ; but he turned cheer- 
fully, and, without entering the house, went in 
search of a neighbor's horse. 

While he was gone, his wife uncovered the 
light repast provided for him, and took down 
from the closet a small communion service of 
white porcelain. Connected with its little his- 
tory were many buried hopes, and she had much 
to do to keep back her tears as she arranged the 
bread and wine. To many a scene of past suf- 
fering and death did it recall her heavy-laden 
thoughts. Sacred as the memory of a dead 
child was that of the distant service to which it 
had been consecrated. Her revery had hardly 
taken shape, however, before her husband re- 
turned, and, pausing only for a cup of cold water, 
started afresh on his errand of love. 

After a tedious ride of several miles, at the 
slow pace of a superannuated farm-horse, they 
reached the retired dwelling of their friend. 



384: AUTUMN LEAVES. 

Seeing, by the countenances of those about 
them, that she was yet alive, they entered the 
sick-room with light hearts; for, full of mercy 
and good works as the life of the sufferer had 
been, they had nothing to ask of Heaven for her, 
save a tranquil passage to her spirit-home. The 
pastor^s wife took her station by the nurse, who 
held the cold hand of the departing in her own. 
The sick woman was too feeble to bear the pre- 
sence of numbers ; and the clergyman stood be- 
tween the small room in which she lay and an 
anteroom where were assembled such members 
of the family and the church as anxious hearts 
had drawn together. 

Through a long and painful illness, the dying 
woman had preserved a loving and cheerful 
spirit ; reminding those about her of the fra- 
grant herbs we, careless, trample under foot 
in summer, scarce knowing they are sweet till 
they are dead. Always thoughtful of others, 
and forgetful of herself; trustful as a child, and 
sympathizing with the wrongs and sufferings of 
humanity to the last, — her meek spirit poured 
out fragrance on the air of her sick-room, as 
hidden violets sometimes seem to fill the firma- 
ment with their perfume. 

As the service began, and the promises of 



AUTUMN LEAVES.' 385 

Christ were read to her, her eye kindled with 
the light of the sacred Word. On account of an 
unmitigated nausea, it had been thought best 
not to offer her the elements ; but, when the 
bread was offered to those nearest her, she put 
forth her trembling hand, and cried, with an 
earnestness not to be withstood, " One crumb, — 
one little crumb ! " Her fingers closed on the 
morsel, and carried it, faltering, to her lips. In- 
stantly a shudder ran through her whole frame. 
Never before had those present, though well 
versed in varieties of suffering, encountered a 
struggle between the body and the will like 
that which now went on before their eyes. The 
whole frame of the sick woman shook with sup- 
pressed agony ; the cold dew started to her fore- 
head ; and life seemed almost to forsake the hand 
extended towards her nurse, as she struggled 
pertinaciously to retain the crumb upon her lips. 
Scarce knowing what she did, her faithful at- 
tendant bent over the bed, and, clasping the 
sufferer's hands in hers, strove to impart her 
whole store of life and strength. Almost audi- 
bly, she prayed that the effort might avail ; that 
this last gratification might not be refused to 
the dying. Never had she struggled for another 
as she struggled at that moment ; but her prayer 

2o 



386 AUTUMN LEAVES. 

was answered. Little by little, the shuddering 
subsided ; and when, after a considerable inter- 
val, the wine-cup was offered at the bedside, the 
sufferer had strength to say, ^^ God grant that I 
taste it in the spirit ! '' 

Reared in the bosom of the ancient Puritan 
Church, the warmest associations of the depart- 
ing one clung to an old Calvinistic hymn, from 
which, throughout her sickness, she had derived 
much comfort. With the singing of this the 
service concluded, and tranquillity gradually re- 
visited her frame. When her pastor left her, she 
lay calm as an infant ; while strong men wept 
around her to think of what she had so cou- 
rageously endured. 

Her last words to the pastor's wife recognized 
the beauty of the distant woods, and brought 
back the lady's thoughts to the successive scenes 
of suffering which the gay landscape, strangely 
enough, had summoned, like the shifting scenes 
of a panorama, to her view. 



DR. LOWELL AND HIS MINISTRY. 



DR. LOWELL AND HIS MINISTRY* 



' Who makes another's grief his own ? 
Whose smile lends joy a double cheer ? 
Where lives the saint, if such be known? 
Speak softly ! — such an one is here." 

0. W. Holmes. 



rriHE appearance of these volumes offers a fit 
-*" opportunity, to one who sat under his mini- 
stry for more than twenty years, to pay the 
tribute demanded by love and honor to his pas- 
toral care, rather than the cold duty of a critic 
to their literary merits. 

It is seldom in these days that one is called to 
consider a ministry which has lasted nearly half 
a century. The old foundations of the ministerial 
relation are rapidly crumbling away ; and, if any 
others have been laid, men are neither accus- 
tomed to the new forms, nor familiar with the 



* Practical Sermons. By the Senior Minister of the West Church. 
Boston : Ticknor and Fields. 1855. 

Occasional Sermons. By Charles Lowell. Boston: Tickiior and 
Fields. 1855. 



390 DR. LOWELL AND HIS MINISTRY. 

new conditions which spring from them. He, 
who was once our teacher, ruler, and guide, is 
now our brother and familiar friend ; he, who 
was once our almost infallible authority and un- 
failing support, is now only our fellow-seeker 
after truth, — our fellow-suflferer in the hour of 
trial. If, in the providence of God, such a 
change has been permitted, there are, doubtless, 
good reasons for its existence. We have faith 
in the absolute power of divine truth ; and we 
do not lose hope of the world because influences 
that are precious to us, and relations intimately 
associated with our own spiritual growth, may 
have proved to be among the things that " pass.'' 
If, here and there, some suffering, sinning soul 
uplifts to God an imploring cry, and beseeches 
some human sponsor to stand between it and the 
eternal baptism of fire, not all indifferent to that 
supplication, let us still acknowledge that the 
mass of men needed to be taught to think, act, 
and be responsible for themselves. Yet they 
may be all this, we think, without forfeiting their 
need of a great consoler, such as we used to feel 
our pastor w^as. 

Perhaps no man in the Christian ministry ever 
acquired so wide a reputation, or took so deep a 
hold of the hearts of men, without a decided 



DR. LOWELL AND HIS MINISTRY. 391 

literary position, as the writer of the volume 
before us. He was, as he once said, the first 
minister at large. For many years before the 
establishment of that ministry, the stranger, sick, 
or dying, in our city ; the poor man who had 
never called any particular church his own ; and 
the famishing, for whom others found it needful 
to seek out a friend, — turned, with an instinct 
that public feeling justified, to the minister of 
the West Church. It was because of the broad 
and generous, the devout and loving, heart that 
throbbed in his bosom. When men had lost 
friends, they came to him ; because no one was so 
familiar with the sources of consolation ; no one 
could touch so gently the strained chords within. 
When they married, they came to him : for no 
one better understood, or more liberally inter- 
preted, the nature of that covenant; no one 
knew so well how to sustain the timid, or sub- 
due the thoughtless, who were about venturing 
upon it. Precious beyond any earthly comfort 
was his prayer in the sick-chamber, or his pre- 
sence at the festive board. 

Whatever society he entered, he uplifted. No 
scene so gay but he could lead its careless mirth 
up to the everlasting joy ; no hour of sorrow so 
dark that his beloved countenance might not 



392 DR. LOWELL AND HIS MINISTRY. 

slied across it one irradiating gleam. Let no 
scholar, deep in the perusal of black-letter folios ; 
let no orator, holding the ear of thousands at 
his will ; let no poet, moulding the life of God and 
man to forms of beauty, — think lightly of an 
influence like this. It was a rarer gift than any 
that either can boast ; for it proceeded from ac- 
cumulated force of character, — from the power 
of grace that dwelt within and diffused itself 
around him. Exquisitely fine as were the tones 
of his beloved voice, it was not this gift of God 
which imparted its peculiar charm, but the depth 
it borrowed from an infinitely loving heart. It 
was this love — so intense, so broad, so search- 
ing, that it reminded us always of the love of 
God himself — that gave the unction to our 
pastor's preaching and prayer. He had a most 
earnest appreciation of the poetic beauty of the 
Scriptures, and brought it home to the hearts of 
his people with a readiness and felicity of which 
Mrs. Stowe's biblical descriptions of Alpine 
scenery have recently reminded us. No other 
words sprang to his lips in the hour of sorrow : 
for no words were so rich with meaning to him. 
His mind seemed to contain a perfect liturgy; 
pecuhar expressions always standing in the same 
relation to the same trials : but we never grew 



•DK. LOWELL AND HIS MINISTRY. 393 

weary of them, as we might have done of the 
liturgy of a church ; because, however often re- 
peated, they were never uttered save with a 
solemn earnestness that inthralled the listener, — 
with a deep conviction that told how precious 
they were to him, how dear they ought to be to 
us. His pastoral walk seemed to be as natural 
and genial a duty as his parental relation. He 
needed no parish list. No danger that he could 
forget the smallest grief of those he loved so 
well. Never was he puzzled for an infant's name 
or a maiden's age : he kept a calendar in his heart 
more authentic than that of the old parish clerk. 
All the holiest moments of our lives are associ- 
ated with him. We well remember the sunshiny 
parlor, in which, when we were seven years old, 
he laid his hand upon us and an infant sister in 
baptismal consecration ; the pleasant noon, when, 
meeting us as we came from school with our 
satchel on our arm, he promised us a gift if we 
kept the rank just gained for seven long weeks ; 
and the still pleasanter holiday on which he 
brought the gift, a copy of Bewick's " History of 
Birds," a whole edition of which he seemed to 
have bought up for such purposes. It was he 
who admitted us to the communion, — to the 
Lord's table, as he emphatically said, " not his ; " 



394 DR. LOWELL AND HIS MINISTRY. 

it was before him that we pronounced our mar- 
riage vow ; while he linked to each of these occa- 
sions a few golden words that our hearts will never 
suflfer us to forget. Nor would these personal 
reminiscences have any value in these pages, if 
they belonged to us alone ; but they are the in- 
heritance of all who were born, and grew up, 
under his ministry. 

To go back to the volumes in question. No 
heart but must feel the characteristic beauty of 
the dedication, which offers the memorials of a 
whole life, contained in the first, to the sister who 
had grown up with him from infancy, the wdfe 
who shared his maturer years, and the children 
whose joyous childhood and world-blessing ma- 
turity had bound into one golden circlet his past 
and present. 

The volume so dedicated is rich with meaning 
associations to many of those to whom it is sent. 
As they read its pages, they will readily recall 
the inspired earnestness, the affectionate anxiety, 
with which they were first uttered in their 
behalf. Many will find in these volumes words 
spoken for the first time beside their cherished 
dead, or sketches of those whose gray hair they 
have honored from their youth up, and whose 
beautiful presence in the house of God made 



DR. LOWELL AND HIS MINISTRY. 395 

gladder and more radiant every sabbath morn- 
ing. 

Many years ago, a countryman, wandering 
hopelessly through the streets of Boston, was 
accosted by a stranger, who asked him what he 
wanted. " I want,'' said he, ^^ to find the man 
who preaches short sermons,''^ The stranger had 
no hesitation in pointing out the road which led 
to the West Church : but, anxious to discover 
what peculiar hold our pastor had taken of this 
man's mind, he suggested that the sermons at 
the West Church were very short indeed ; and 
that perhaps the great city might offer, to one 
who seldom entered it, others more w^orthy of 
consideration. '^ Not they," responded the warm- 
hearted rustic. " I never heard him preach but 
once, and that was before the convention the 
other day : but I remembered every word of his 
sermon, as if I had preached it myself; and my 
wife and I had something to talk of for a week 
after. I tell you, stranger, that, after he has 
preached his short sermon, there is not much 
more to be said on the same subject." 

The title of " Practical Sermons " showed what 
our pastor himself thought they were, or in- 
tended they should be. For ourselves, we find 
the rustic criticism just quoted very significant. 



396 DR. LOWELL AND HIS MINISTRY. 

In these sermons — so terse^ so emphatic, and so 
eminently simple — we find lucidly arranged, in 
an order at once striking and easy, almost every 
suggested thought in any natural relation to his 
subject. Here is no poverty of ideas, — rather a 
wise compression ; no lack of words, but rather 
an unwonted flow of them. Our pastor never 
amplified his paragraphs, but left us to draw 
our own deductions from his clear and reverent 
propositions. Accustomed for years to associate 
the chief eloquence of our pulpit with the cha- 
racter of the man and the unction of his address, 
we are surprised, in turning to the printed page, 
to find it w^rought into the very structure of the 
discourses, raying out from the earnest flow of 
the thought, and gleaming wherever with a 
strong hand he draws in the reins of utterance. 
It is often said by the more conservative among 
us, who long for the days that were, that they 
can enter many a church in these modern times 
without once hearing the name of God uttered, 
or the personal responsibility of man insisted on, 
save in that cold, abstract, classic way that 
might have befitted the groves of the Academy 
or the schools of Alexandria. It was never thus 
in the West Church. Turn over the pages of 
the book before us, and you will easily believe it. 



DR. LOWELL AND HIS MINISTRY. 397 

Not a line but is instinct with devotional ardor ; 
not a paragraph but draws closer the links be- 
tween man and God. Never a hearer could sit 
under these discourses without feeling the press- 
ure of duty grow stronger as he listened, the love 
of God more imminent, the mission of Christ 
more dear. They abound, also, with personal 
appeals. The listener went home feeling that 
he had something to do; sure that his pastor 
preached, not because it was his duty to do so, 
not because the returning sabbath claimed his 
presence in the pulpit, but because of the joy it 
gave him to proclaim what he so fully and joy- 
fully believed. We are struck, too, with the 
manner in which he dwells upon the family tie. 
These pages are filled with appeals to parents 
and children. Whatever subject he presented 
to his people, he seemed to press upon them 
both its contrasted relations and appeal to the 
force of those ties which his dedication — nay, 
his whole life — shows he has so tenderly felt. 
In the hour of bereavement, he made us feel the 
sacredness, the blessedness, of grief He taught 
us to pray, not to question ; to profit by, not to 
speculate upon, our sorrow. One thought was 
often repeated in his preaching : it is that set 
before us in the seventeenth sermon, from the 



398 DR. LOWELL AND HIS MINISTRY. 

text, ^' Thou, God, seest me.'^ Never shall we 
forget how often, when, in our earlier years, he 
held God up to us as a tender Father, he would 
add with emphasis, " Never indulge any thought 
which you would be unwilling God should 
know/' 

When the ladies of our parish first wished to 
establish a Sunday school, he objected ; because 
he feared that it might tend to diminish the sense 
of parental responsibility among his people. He 
consented, however; and afterwards gratefully 
acknowledged that his fears had not been justi- 
fied by the result. 

"Whether it was before this time, or a little 
after, that he instituted a catechizing class, 
which he used to hear himself every Saturday 
afternoon in a little room in the belfry, we do 
not remember. We belonged to this class, and 
always waited anxiously for the " Good child,'' 
and tender pat upon the head, which followed 
our best endeavors. It was the fashion in those 
days, in private schools, to tie the w^hite sleeve 
of an orderly pupil with a pink ribbon when she 
went home at night. If disorderly, she was 
compelled to wear a black one. No words can 
describe our trouble, when forced, on one or two 



DR. LOWELL AND HIS MINISTRY. 399 

occasions, to wear a black ribbon into the cate- 
chizing class. One afternoon, we were busily 
tugging away at this disgraceful badge ; fancying 
perhaps, like the poor goose in the fable, that he 
could not see it if we did not ourselves j when 
he came gently behind us, and, laying a kind 
hand upon our head, said softly, — 

^' We could cut away the black ribbon ; but of 
what use would it be, if we must leave the scarlet 
trace of it on the cheek, or the darker stain 
within ? My poor child ! why should you care 
so much about my seeing it this single afternoon ? 
Do you not know that God seeth you always ? ^^ 

It has been frequently suggested that the 
practice of preaching funeral discourses is going 
out of fashion. ^^ I have given up preaching 
them/' says a minister, now and then ; " for, if I 
do it for one, I must for all.'' It was a custom 
which helped to bind our pastor to his people,, 
and we are sure that he never felt any of its 
embarrassments. The death-bed of the very 
humblest parishioner found him, in this sense, 
always ready. Nay, not merely the death, but 
the sorrow, the business misfortune, was sure to 
be followed on the next Sunday by a discourse, 
which those who were in the secret, at least, 



400 DR. LOWELL AND HIS MINISTRY. 

knew to have special reference to the experience 
of the last week. 

If he could not praise the dead, there was no 
limit to the comfort he could offer to the living. 
If he could not restore the riches that had 
^' taken to themselves wings/' he could at least 
point the way to those that '^ abide for ever." 
The love in his heart seemed, on such occasions, 
not only omnipotent, but omniscient ; and often 
might the sufferer wonder how his pastor came 
to penetrate his very inmost thought. 

The volume of " Occasional Sermons " is, as its 
name implies, quite different from the first. It 
offers a portrait of our pastor as he is, which 
none who have seen him in his sick-chamber 
would be willing to spare. We miss the keen 
and piercing glance of Harding's portrait, and 
the significant curl upon the forehead ; but we 
have instead a new charm, — an added sweetness 
of expression, which reminds us not unworthily 
of Greenwood and Channing, — which bears wit- 
ness how all the bitter experiences of life have 
mellowed within his soul. 

Would that we could bear any worthy witness 
to the life that draws so gently towards its close ! 



DR. LOWELL AND HIS MINISTRY. 401 

Would that he might know how often, as the 
storms of life beset us beyond the shelter of 
his fold, we have missed the friend and minister, 
the tongue that never failed in counsel, the ear 
that never wearied in hearing ! 

We have spoken of our pastor in the past 
tense, not because he has already departed to 
the better land, but because his active walk 
among us has long since been relinquished to 
one whom the world has no need that we should 
name. From the sick-chamber to which he has 
retired, many a pleasant memorial, many a cheer- 
ing w^ord, has come forth to his people. From 
it, chastened by a recent trial, so heavy that 
those who felt it most hardly dared breathe it to 
themselves as they prayed for him, the first 
volume came forth. The memories that throng 
around it cannot fail to bless his people. 

Let them, therefore, be permitted to pray tliat 
that Presence, which has dwelt wath him visibly 
from their earliest remembrance, may continue 
to dwell with him to his latest hour, making 
radiant as sunlight that one clouded moment of 
transition, which, sooner or later, shall restore 
him to the lost angel whom he so touchingly de- 
plores. 



26 



402 



DR. LOWELL AND HIS MINISTRY. 



Should these lines ever penetrate his guarded 
chamber, may they warm within him old me- 
mories of the many who love him ! for they are 
but a single note in an eternal chime. 



THE END, 



[jTn^> 24 18S1 J 



L'ENYOI. 

My Song, I know that thou wilt converse hold 
With many a maiden, when sent forth by me. 

Unaccompanied, 

Thy spirit might be bold in every place ; 

But wouldst thou go in full security, 

First must thou find out Love. 

And, where the woman is, bide thou ; 

Nor hide from her the purport of thy strain. 

My Song, thou seest fall well how subtile is 

The thread whereon my tale depends, and seest 

How powerless it is without her help. 

Hence, with thy plain and humble reasoning, 

Go forth, my last-born child, nor use delay ; 

And, if thou wouldst not have thy journey vain, 

Kemain not thou among ungentle souls. 

Dante : from the " JVcw? LifeV 



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